All Dogs Go To Heaven
by SixThings
Summary: Overworked business owner Fitzwilliam Darcy meets Liz the dog walker (and student) whose sass & eyes he finds both compelling & a breath of fresh air. She appears to have a busier schedule than he, & Fitz feels cheated by time & circumstance. He is ready for romance, but Liz seems hesitant.
1. My Monday Date

A/N: Does anyone listen to the Beatles anymore? Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band had its 50th anniversary this year. I recall watching a documentary about the making of the album, and the editor (George Martin?, Geoff Emerick?) was not happy with the symphonic piece in "A Day in the Life," so he took the _tape_ recording, cut it into pieces, threw them into the air, and let them fall on the ground. Then he taped them back together again to give that oddly whirling sound that is in the middle of that song (I always think I am on a merry-go-round). I feel as if I have done that with P&P, all the elements are there, the Netherfield Ball, Hunsford, Pemberley, they dance, he sends her a letter, etc. but nothing occurs in the correct order. This is a modern setting.

And fair warning that I will probably confuse a number of you as to who my leading man is. He was born Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy, but is having a bit of an identity crisis, so uses Mason as his given name, though he will come to appreciate the name his father gave him. But most everyone in the story refers to him as Mason—except Liz. To keep people straight, the part of his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, is now played by good old Bob. (Everyone always likes Bob, right?)

And finally, my chapter titles are all jazz song titles. This becomes more apparent and important in volume three. Most of the songs are versions sung by Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Ray Charles and Louis Armstrong, but there are other artists' versions as well.

* * *

 _In Memory of Guinness, a good old dog, and my 6:30 a.m. walking buddy._

 **Volume 1: Finding**

Chapter One

"My Monday Date"

 _Don't forget our Monday date  
_ _That you promised me last Tuesday  
_ _Don't forget and don't be late  
_ _I'll be there on noon-day_

Atherton, CA: the most expensive place to live in the United States. If you do not have ten million dollars for a house, you are screwed. The lots in Atherton are not measured by feet but by acreage. The houses are things that would probably be featured in architecture magazines if the owners would let anybody come in and take pictures. But the people who live in Atherton tend to be fiercely private and are not given to display their homes, their possessions and their lives as in other areas of the country. The houses often have seven or eight foot high fences with large gates and security speakers in front at which to gain entry.

Some have iron railings you can peek through if you are walking in the area. It is a lovely town if you are one for exercise, either by foot or bicycle, but it has a maze of streets. Atherton is a town that is impossible to drive straight through, the streets wind back on themselves or are dead ends—none are intuitive. This street layout does not encourage anyone to ever drive _through_ the city; you have to use the perimeter roads. If you wished to drive through as a _shortcut_ , it would take you twice as long to do so because of those confusing roads. It is as if it had been designed deliberately so, to discourage anyone from sneaking through and disturbing its residents. Runners love those streets because they can clock a number of miles and never see another soul. And dog walkers like it, again, because there are fewer cars.

Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy drove off of one of the few main thoroughfares in Atherton, onto a side street then onto his own, remotely clicking the gate open as he pulled into his short driveway. His house had iron railings with short stubby bushes behind them so the house was actually visible from the street. It was not one of the newer houses in the city, one of those mansions (three stories plus basement) which had become so trendy. Still, it rose two stories and filled the lot, long and imposing. It was, perhaps, twenty years old when two-story houses had been sufficient for Atherton and deemed adequate for a successful business man or doctor or lawyer or entrepreneur.

He left his car in the driveway since he would be going out again, but had not even had time to open the car door when his phone sounded, and he pulled it from his jacket pocket. It was a Facetime request from his sister, Georgie.

"I'm home; I'm home," he cried as he answered it.

"Prove it!" were the first words on her lips. He turned the phone around as he opened the car door and showed her the outside of the garage to prove that he was, indeed, home and not at work. He swung the phone again to look at her.

"I wouldn't have believed it. You are not often good with your follow through," she clicked her tongue at him.

"Busy," he said with a bitter and bemused note to his voice. He slammed the car door. "I am busy." He started to walk towards the house. The sound of barking met him as soon as he touched his key to the door. "Your damned dog," he said.

"Don't say that," she pouted then launched into her topic. "I wanted to talk to you because I don't want to come home…for spring break."

"You're not coming home?" he asked, pausing on the doorstep as a tiny dog came rushing at him, barking as she ran circles around his feet. For once the demon spawn of a dog did not distract him, but Mason looked at his sister, attempting to discern more to that statement than she let on. "You're not…quiet Cherie!" he yelled at the dog which did nothing. He walked in to shut the door behind him. "You're not running away again are you?"

Georgie shook her head first before she spoke. "No, I am better able to care for myself, thanks to you. I know it was a foolish thing to change schools because of an unhappy love affair." Those clucking teeth sounded again. "Texas is much farther away from California…and you…and everyone," she said. "But I am not going to keep changing schools every year in college," she sounded like a petulant toddler just then. "But I have some friends…" the voice changed to one of a kid explaining why _it was not her fault._

He looked at her with a concerned brother's look.

"Not a man this time, Mason!" Georgie insisted. "A couple of girlfriends. I told you about them, Allison and Katy. Anyways, we just thought we would go to Florida for spring break!" Her smile filled the entire screen then.

"That is what every college student does for spring break. They go wild, and they party, and they drink, and they get into trouble," he growled.

She made another face. "Why should I show any more sense than others of like age? I have, so far, proved myself an idiot," there was a note of disquiet in her voice. "I proved that my freshman year, unhappy love affair and all…but I am learning. I am a sophomore now. I am doing better. I have girlfriends, and we will look out for each other. Plus, I am working at avoiding men."

He had been making his way through the house, throwing his jacket on the bottom step of the stairs before he began making his way up them to his room. "Why couldn't we have talked while I was at work?" he asked.

"Because you would not have given me more than two minutes. I know you, Mason, you are an idiot when it comes to work, even _I_ suffer. You have a short attention span, even when it comes to your family."

"Hello Mason," called a voice.

"Hello Yvonne," he called down to his housekeeper, who was walking through to the front part of the house as he moved up the stairs.

"Alejandra is looking for you," called his housekeeper to him.

"Don't let her!" called Georgie from the phone. "I get ten minutes with you at least!"

"You have your own money, Georgie. You can buy a ticket to go to Florida without my permission," he said.

"But I should like your blessing." It was as if she was a little girl then, asking him to hold her hand when they were out somewhere. He was up in his room, walking towards the bathroom.

"Mason," said a voice; he turned to see his PA standing in the doorway.

"Tell her to go away," said Georgie.

"I am talking to Georgie, I will be with you soon," he said to his assistant who had no sense of personal space, no compunction in following him home if she had business matters still to discuss and would even follow him into his bedroom to find him.

"Very good," replied his PA, and walked out of the room.

"There is a meeting of the SVE tonight. I should change," he told his sister.

"I don't know why you bother. You always wear suits and dress so formally," said Georgie. "I think you should throw on a pair of jeans and go for a walk before you go out to this meeting of Silicon Valley Entrepreneurs. You guys always talk about the same things, all stuffy men and women only interested in lining your pockets."

"We are innovators, Georgie; perhaps you too will join us one day. And it pays for your whimsical trips to Florida."

"Never!" she cried and pulled a face. "When is the last time you ever got any exercise?"

"I go jogging most mornings, if I can fit it in," he said.

"Yeah, on the treadmill," the sarcasm was evident. "Why not go for a walk while the sun is out, so you can tell people you know what it looks like; it is that big bright thing up in the sky...you know sky, that blue stuff over our heads…"

"Georgie, I have to get ready and Alex is waiting for me," he interrupted his sister.

"Promise me you will go for a walk, _today_!" she frowned at him. "Outside!"

"I promise, even if it is just around the block," he wondered how his evening schedule was looking, and if he had time.

"Excellent! Because it is like, two miles around the block! That will give you some exercise and fresh air." Her grin faded a little, and she smiled sweetly. "You know I love you big brother."

"I love you too, Georgie. And you have my blessing—just use good judgment if you go to Florida for spring break. And keep up the avoiding men thing. Good bye."

"Bye," she said, and the screen went blank.

Alejandra must have been hovering outside his bedroom door because thirty seconds later she appeared with a list of Things To Discuss. In particular, she reminded him to talk to a certain gentleman who was supposed to attend the dinner that evening. The man was doing some alternative energy research into turbine design. Alex had gone so far as to find a picture of him so Mason would have an idea of what he looked like and included a short bio of the man. Then she held her phone down and looked at him.

"I heard Georgie tell you to go for a walk." He eyed her as she continued. "I was just waiting to talk to you about the dinner so I could go back to work. Perhaps you should walk the dogs?"

"Walk the dogs?"

"Yvonne usually does in the late afternoon," she explained, "but she is feeling, you know, quite under the weather today which is expected, given her condition. Maybe take the dogs for a walk. I am sure your own dog would love to go for a walk with you."

"Walk my own dog?" he said.

"Yes," she nodded; apparently she too could do sarcasm.

"What a novel concept," he remarked as dryly as he could. He wondered about being ordered about by his PA who was currently standing in his bedroom and discussing how his personal household should be run.

She looked at him. "Even powerful CEOs do it, sometimes."

He was sure she was hinting at other things, but chose to ignore her. "I will take the dogs for a walk, because I appreciate everything Yvonne does for me," he looked at her uncertainly.

"Good to hear it. Good luck with tonight—and with Mr. Stephens. Are you sure you're okay going stag?"

"Yes," he replied, already anxious to get his dog-walking commitment over so he could get to the next item on his agenda.

He changed into casual pants and threw on a t-shirt, a funny one which Georgie had given him. So long as he was to walk the dogs, he would do it in the manner in which Georgie saw fit.

Jack lay in the family room, which was where the dog principally spent his time these days. He thumped his tail on the floor when Mason walked in.

"Are you ready for a walk, old boy?" he asked. The tail still thumped eagerly, but the dog did not even bother to lift his head in greeting.

Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy had got himself a dog when his father had died seven years ago. It had seemed an appropriate thing to do at the time though Mason considered that taking on the responsibilities of a dog when he had been charged both with the responsibilities of running a company, and being a parent to his underage sister had been an awful lot on his plate at the time, given he also had a semester of college to finish as well.

He had battled forces within the company for control of it; he had to deal with both his grief and that of his sister, and yet he chose to get a dog. He was not sure what had possessed him to think that an Irish wolfhound had been the correct choice for him. Jack seemed to do nothing but sleep. But when Mason had researched the character of the breed, he had read that wolfhounds become attached to both their owners and other dogs they are raised with. He had decided he liked that characteristic. That and the fact that they were described as introverted, intelligent, and reserved in character.

Yvonne was sitting in the kitchen area at the breakfast table, and he thought she looked a little green. But perhaps it was the lighting, or his imagination.

"Alex suggested I take the dogs for a walk," he said. "I must confess I do not know where all the leashes are. Do you want me to take Benny as well?"

She opened her eyes and smiled. "I keep the leashes in the pantry," she replied. "I appreciate you taking them for a walk. I have no energy today. I am quite tired," she said as she yawned.

"I always appreciate everything you do for me," he said in all sincerity. "I'll find the leashes."

They were exactly where she stated. Yvonne was good at keeping track of everything and putting things back where they were meant to be. His house was sometimes a little too pristine, but it was just him, now that Georgie was in college. No teenage sister and her friends invading the place and up to their hijinks. A photographer might come and snap pictures so tidy were the rooms most days, because he was often at work and not at home. He found, with interest, that the minute the leashes made the slightest rattle that both Cherie and Benny, who was Yvonne's dog, came running and yapping, knowing exactly where the leashes were kept and what the rattle at the end of those leashes meant.

Cherie was Georgie's dog. His sister had also chosen to get a dog when they lost their father. She had wanted a small, cute dog, and Mason had hated the damned thing ever since it appeared in the house. The dog did not bark, it yapped. It piddled inside, and it would live forever; he was convinced of that. This cruel little creature hated everything and everybody but Georgie and would live in his house for years more. Small dogs lived forever while large dogs laid down far fewer paw prints on the earth.

Benny was a Chihuahua, a decent-sized one; he was sandy-furred and of a decent disposition. When Mason had hired Yvonne to keep house for him, and to help keep an eye on his young sister, he had been reluctant to admit a third dog into the house. But Benny was well-behaved and intelligent. If Mason had to admit it, he probably preferred his housekeeper's dog to his own or to his sister's.

He carried the leashes back to where Jack lay by the patio door; his tail thumping in greeting, this time Jack, at least, affected to raise his head in greeting.

"Come on Jack, let's go for a walk." Those mournful eyes looked at him as though he had asked his dog to do something reprehensible. He wondered if Jack had rheumatism or arthritis. Mason knew that Irish wolfhounds did not live long. He looked at that gray coat, but the dog had always had a gray coat so it was not as if he could tell if there were gray hairs because he was an old dog.

He wondered how many more years that lanky body would be lying on the family room floor, more as if a carpet than as if a dog. Once upon a time, Jack used to nose open Mason's bedroom door to sleep next to his bed, but Jack no longer climbed the stairs. He slept now in the downstairs bedroom by the study which they often referred to as the guest bedroom.

Mason clipped the leash to Jack's collar and those eyes looked resigned; he curled his legs under him, pulled himself up to stand next to Mason, and poked his nose at Mason's hand; he insisted he receive some love before they left. Cherie ran such circles at his feet; he could hardly get her to calm down enough to get her lead on, but Benny sat waiting. They finally made their way out the front door.

He told them, though it was not as if they understood. "I am just doing this to help out Yvonne and because I promised Georgie; I am in a hurry. We are just going around the block and will come straight home." He was certain that Jack would not mind, and perhaps neither would Cherie (with her short legs), but Benny had been known to wander and neighbors sometimes found him and brought him back home.

When lots are measured in acreage, you do not have a row of houses all lined up together, and walk down past the fronts of them, with them all ponied up together, then round the corner and back around to where you started. You had to know where you were going. Mason knew that the block where his house stood was two miles around if he walked its perimeter. He considered a shorter route as the block on the other side of the road had a street that cut through it, and was only a mile around.

It was slower going than he supposed, though he had his phone in-hand, and he scrolled through emails as Jack walked liked an old grandfather and Cherie walked with quick little steps tugging at her leash. Benny led the way, the leader in all things.

The day was lovely, but it is so often a lovely day in Northern California that one never appreciates it unless it is too cold or it is the odd day of rain, and you recollect how pleasant it was but the day before. He concentrated on reading his emails while walking and found a certain rhythm to it with his eyes on his screen.

He did not truly note the scenery or where he was going until Benny tugged the lead out of Mason's grip and ran away, barking. Mason looked up and saw a woman walking towards him with her own posse of dogs surrounding her. One or two of the dogs began barking as Benny ran at them. She had to have a half dozen dogs, and Mason's eyes trailed over the group, counting. He realized she had five, and he thought ' _dog walker_.'

He knew that some of his neighbors complained about the people who used the streets for exercise. He watched as the woman stopped while Benny ran over to greet his fellow creatures, all the tails and haunches wiggling in excitement. While the two most sociable dogs in her posse said their hellos to Benny, she deftly leaned down and snagged his leash then she waited for Mason to claim him.

As he walked up, his eyes danced over her, taking in her attire. She was dressed in exercise clothes. She had dark hair and eyes; he wondered if she was not employed by one of the houses or estates in Atherton and added to her income by walking other people's dogs.

"Not paying attention, huh?" she said when he was about ten feet away. "You don't _always_ have to be on your phone. You could just take a walk and enjoy the company of your friends."

He scowled at her. "I had some emails from work to check," he replied, though he was not sure why he was explaining his business to a housekeeper, a maid, a gardener, or a simple dog walker. He looked at her again; she was younger than he had at first assumed. He had imagined a figure like Yvonne, who was in her early thirties. This woman was in her early twenties which surprised him. He wondered again about her being a dog walker, and her reasons for being on the streets of Atherton, but he did not want to be one of those neighbors who complained about the slightest suspicious person in the area, even if _suspicious_ meant 'not one of us.'

"I have never seen you out walking before," she said as she handed him Benny's leash. "Though I believe I have seen that trio before from a distance."

"I am not often home at this time of day. I usually get someone else to walk the dogs," he replied. "I do not imagine all of those are yours," he inclined his chin towards the dogs, some of which sat on their haunches with tongues lolling, others still stood eagerly on their feet. Benny and Cherie were ready to go, but Jack was lying on his side already.

"You are one of those busy men who think they want to own animals, and yet never spend any time with them," her hands came up to her hips, despite the leashes, and her eyes flashed then. He looked at her and wondered that he had not noticed what an enchanting face it was. Her dark eyes gave her face an intelligent expression. Philosopher and performer and Greek oracle all seemed to be wrapped up in their depths.

"They are not all mine," he began.

"You are one of those damned people who cannot be bothered to walk their own dogs," it was definitely an accusation.

"And yet, by all appearances, you are a dog walker," he countered.

"Yes," she agreed.

"So you take advantage of and make a living out of those _damned people_ who cannot be bothered to walk their own dogs. You profit by it," he argued.

"Touché," she said. "They are not all yours?"

"Jack is mine," he said. The thump, thump, thump of a tail indicated which dog was Jack as he responded to his name. "The demon ball of fur is Cherie, who belongs to my sister. She is away at college. The only halfway decent dog among them is Benny. Aren't you Benny?" Benny looked up at him then. "He comes when he calls, is mostly well-behaved, and doesn't piddle in the house," he explained.

"I will grant you a half point for knowing the dog's names and give you a full point for walking them, but I will dock you a full point for being on your cell phone while you walked," she said. He did not understand exactly what the point system was, but she obviously had some system of measurement for dog owners or men or people in general, and sized them up according to their actions.

"I am still only a half a point up then," part of his mouth twitched.

"Yup," she said.

"I am…" and he hesitated in introducing himself for the first time in twenty-five years, "Fitz…"

"Fitz? I am Liz, professional dog walker," she said, "as you pointed out. Though I spend most of my time occupied the way your sister is, as a college student."

"College student?" his confusion that she was not a maid making a few extra dollars could not be helped.

"You seem hesitant to believe I am one," she scowled.

"No, I just assumed you were older, done with college."

"No woman likes to be told she is older. I am considering docking you your half point."

"Do you…" he did not want to ask if she lived in Atherton. There was something about her that made him consider that any college student whose parents owned a house in Atherton did not need to walk dogs for a living. That changed the way he categorized her. At first, he had thought she was one of the multitudes of the rather anonymous people who worked in the houses in Atherton, but if she was a college student, then perhaps she was only using the streets as her venue.

"Do you normally walk the dogs in the late afternoon?" he asked. He realized then that he was delaying his return home. He saw that Cherie was still sitting; Jack was still lying down, and it was only Benny who stood on his paws, ready to set off at any moment. "Though I don't know," he admitted, recalling her admonishment, "when is the appropriate time to walk a dog."

"You should walk them twice a day," she said, "you naughty boy." She said it in a rather saucy voice, almost as if flirting with him. He was not sure if she was or not. Most of the women who flirted with him were far more blatant about it.

"I don't normally walk them in the afternoons," Liz continued. "Most of the people whose dogs I walk do the afternoon shift, so I only walk the pooches in the morning. It is just today, because it was a three-day weekend, that I am walking them at a different time altogether. I engineered to walk them _now_ as so many of my clients were away for the weekend." She looked at the dogs surrounding her, "many of these guys are only getting one walk today, so I meant to make it a good one."

"A three day weekend?" he asked.

"Today is supposed to be a holiday," she frowned. "Are you one of those insufferable people who actually went to work?"

"I'm afraid I am," he said, "that might account for why there were so few people at the office."

"Didn't your boss give you the day off, the prat!" she cried.

"I am the boss," he said.

"Phew," she blew out a breath. "You actually have people who work for you?"

"Yes," he bristled. "We have a floating holiday policy," and again he wondered why he was explaining himself to her.

"As the boss, do you ever take days off?" she asked, looking pointedly at him.

"The boss usually never gets time off," he shook his head.

"You are rather pathetic, aren't you?" she said with a sneer. "I should get back to my walk. I am off schedule."

"I thought you said this was not your normal time," he pointed out.

"Yes, but I like to keep to a certain time frame, and I do have other things to do," she said though not in an offended tone.

"But you normally walk in the mornings," he asked as she pulled on the leashes, and her posse of dogs got to their paws and began prancing around, ready to go.

"Yes," she nodded and took a step away.

"Goodbye Liz," he said

"Goodbye Fitz," she replied, and the two groups passed each other.

He walked down that through-street and thought about her. She seemed prickly, and he wondered about that, wondered why she seemed to take offense at him when they both were merely walking dogs in the late afternoon. He stopped once, and looked down the street, but she had already turned the corner. He could not tell which way she had gone.

Yvonne did not appear to have moved from her place in the kitchen when he returned, unhooked the dogs and replaced the leashes. She did, however, crack open her eyes to watch him.

"Is today a holiday?" he asked her.

"Yes," she replied.

"Why are you working then?" he asked.

"I'm not…well, not working for you. I am hiding from my family by doing laundry. It's a mom thing," she replied and gave him a faint smile. "You also have the only washer and dryer," and then she closed her eyes again.


	2. Cry Me A River

Chapter Two

"Cry Me a River"

 _You drove me, nearly drove me out of my head  
_ _While you never shed a tear  
_ _Remember, I remember all that you said  
_ _Told me love was too plebeian  
_ _Told me you were through with me…_

 _I cried a river over you_

Liz Bennet had very long days. College students normally do with classes and studying. Being an English major meant she read thousands of pages a week, and wrote thousands of words. She also had her little job, that small but profitable dog-walking job, which she had finagled her first year in college.

Her roommate Brad had put her up to it. She had been ready to take an hourly job at some on-campus eatery. Brad had wealthy parents who happily wrote the check to Stanford University every quarter and underwrote the rent check on their shared condo which made it affordable, even for her. Brad was not such a spoiled rich kid that he was insufferable. His dad had _made_ his money, not inherited it. Mr. Smith could remember living reasonably so had instilled reasonable life expectations and not a sense of entitlement into his son.

But Brad had friends who only knew wealth and living in luxury, and had no sense of what things were truly worth if you had to work for them; they were more than willing to pay outrageous fees to have a pretty young thing walk their dog. If they were a little unreasonable with their requests to Liz about how she treat their dogs, she put up with it. Her five days of work each week was sufficient to help pay her incidental expenses at school when otherwise she might be putting in twelve to nineteen hours a week. For her five to eight hours of work in the mornings (and for putting up with attitude from rich folks), she did well enough.

Liz had a certain scorn for the rich. They had no rhyme or reason about life. Out of the four families whose dogs she walked, there was only one couple whom she thought were truly fond of their dog or dogs. Everyone else owned their pets because it was the thing to do, or it was a fashion accessory, or the dog looked good in their house. Prince Rudolph's owner had purchased him because her house was decorated entirely in white, and she liked the monochromatic look and thought his white fur would complement the decor.

Liz could not say that she truly liked any of her employers. Barkington's owner was into causes. All she did was hold benefits at her house for her latest issue when the dog then became inconvenient to have around. Liz made extra money, because while Barkington's owner had a twelve million dollar house, she was too cheap to send the dog out to be boarded if she was hosting a benefit. She paid Liz to take the dog home with her for the evening or the weekend so she could concentrate on her _issue_.

There was Orion and Sirius' owner who had been a VC (short for Venture Capitalist). He had retired from his firm. Liz had always got a sort of underlying sense that he had been pushed out like an unwitting chick who had a cuckoo egg for a nest mate which hatched and then that cuckoo had pushed him out of his own firm. She wondered if this former VC was not so much incompetent, but he had not been able to keep up with the ruthless business demands required in the VC world.

Or perhaps, he had simply made enough money in life and decided to retire to then spend his days ruthlessly exercising and being devoted to his kids. Liz allowed him a few points; he was one dog owner who had points. He was a rather devoted father. On the other hand, he and his wife seemed to be of that persuasion that if you can afford them, you should have as many children as you can, even if it did not make sense to continue to breed and bear children in this age of overpopulation.

She had heard such philosophies espoused by rich white people who thought that they should breed as much as possible to keep out all of those undesirable dark-skinned immigrants, but in this case, Mrs. Watson was Chinese. They must have just wanted a half dozen children.

There was another couple who had been grand-fathered into the Atherton community. They had bought their house fifty years before, when the town was more of an affluent suburb and not an elite and exclusive one. Their house was a ranch-style one, falling apart in places and in need of repairs (something usually never seen in Atherton). The couple was older and their knees did not allow them to walk their dogs.

* * *

His alarm went off at 5:30, like it always did; he got up, pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, then Fitzwilliam Mason headed down the stairs to the workout room. He only got to the first floor of the house and stood there in that open space as he thought about continuing down to the basement level—to his treadmill. He had his phone in-hand and intended to spend his usual half hour working out and reading his emails (and possibly making a few calls as folks on the East Coast were already awake). But today, he thought about actually going outside to jog.

He did not want to admit that it had been that chance encounter with Liz, the impertinent dog walker the day before, which was prompting this. He was not even sure she would be up and out at this hour of the morning. He was not sure where she lived. She had to first wake and come get the dogs. But he pattered back upstairs in his bare feet. He kept a pair of shoes down in the workout room specifically for the treadmill, and for no other use, but Fitzwilliam changed into jogging pants, grabbed his most worn sweatshirt (which was not very) and headed back downstairs to put on his outside jogging shoes which were in a closet.

He went out through the garage so he did not need a key and could use the keypad to let himself back in. Once on the street, he stretched to warm up, something he usually did not need to do on the treadmill with its built-in settings.

The sun was still rising; it was, after all, late winter, the street lamps were still providing illumination for the pavement. After he had finished warming up, Fitzwilliam set off at his usual pace to run his block knowing it was just a smidge over two miles around. He did not expect to see his new acquaintance, Liz, out so early the more he thought about it. He usually did four miles on his treadmill, allowing for emails and a phone call or two, so when he got back around the block to his house, he set off down the other street to where he had encountered her, knowing that was a mile around: he would only be getting in a three mile run. He could not run and read his emails, and he knew he would have to play catch-up later, which was why he often worked out in the designated room in the basement: so he could both workout and work at the same time.

The sky was beginning to lighten when he came back around, finishing his circuit, and his workout. He let himself in at his gate, punched himself into his garage, and threw his running shoes in a corner. He did not want to run into Yvonne, who might already be in the kitchen, so he cut through the front of the house to shower. He had a routine. He rose at 5:30; he worked out, allowing for warm-ups, checking his email, exercising, he was then in the shower by 6:30. Showered and dressed by ten minutes to seven and down in the kitchen where his housekeeper had breakfast ready for him.

That morning he was a few minutes late and off his schedule. His coffee and breakfast sat waiting for him.

"Good morning Yvonne," he said.

"Good morning, Mason," she replied.

"How are you doing?" he asked as he sat down.

"Ready," she said. "I am ready." He had lived through her first pregnancy and remembered she had quite the tongue at the end of it, so he made no comment, but simply smiled back at her. Yvonne had come into his life when his world had fallen apart, when that proverbial rug had been pulled out from under him. She had provided some needed structure for him.

He hurriedly drank his cup of coffee; a travel mug appeared next to his plate, but he paused a moment and said, "take it easy. In fact, take the day off after you walk Derek to school. There isn't much to do today, is there?"

"No, I just have to walk the dogs," she said.

"Maybe you could combine the two and walk the dogs _and_ Derek to school," he suggested.

She shook her head, "no dogs on school grounds."

He simply nodded and left for work.

There were pressing matters which kept him in his office all day, but there always were. He texted Yvonne to not worry about dinner; he stayed late, ordering food in. He talked to co-workers who followed his example and ate with him.

The next morning his alarm went off at 5:30, but he did an uncharacteristic thing and hit the snooze button. He could not remember the last time he had hit the snooze button. He did not get up and go about his day. Fitz did not exactly go back to sleep, but lay there enjoying the luxury of his king-sized bed until the alarm went off again, and he had to decide workout room or jogging? and he decided _jogging_.

It wasn't any lighter when he stepped outside to jog, but when he finished his first lap it was. He headed in a different direction for his second lap to finish off his three miles, going counter-clockwise. The morning sky had lightened and gave some illumination to the shrubbery which peered out at him from various houses, or it gave light to the rock formations by those gates which people put in front of their houses to discourage anyone from parking there (though technically it was a public street). Still, as he returned towards home, he did not spy her anywhere.

It had just gone seven when he was showered, dressed, and came down to breakfast. and a little voice called out to him as he walked in.

"You're late!" Fitz looked to see that Yvonne's son, Derek, was joining him for breakfast. It must mean that Yvonne's husband was traveling again. Derek claimed to be a 'rough and tough' boy. He was five and had just started _real school_ as he liked to explain to Mason. He was proud of going to school all day and not baby school as he had called his preschool. His dad traveled a lot as a salesman. If Mike was home, Derek spent time in the mornings with his father. But if Mike was gone, Derek would often seek out Mason and eat breakfast with him.

Derek had never known any other life but the one in Atherton, though he went to a local public school, and not a private school as 99% of other children of residents in Atherton did. He was too young to know about such things yet.

"I slept in this morning," explained Mason to Derek. Yvonne looked at him but did not say anything. She had been his housekeeper for seven years. She and her husband had been a fixture in his life and knew of his past. No doubt, she was questioning the reason for the change. "It was a late night, last night," he offered. He ate quickly while Derek chattered away about his school friends, having already finished his own meal. Fitzwilliam grabbed his travel mug, and went to work.

Thursday he hit the snooze button, again. He threw on jogging pants, again. He decided that he would try for five miles that day. Having paced them out at various times, he ran off in a new direction he did not normally go. He first ran his own block, then he paced off a second two miles, came back, then set off to finish his fifth mile by tracing that one mile block which he had paced the previous two days.

By then the sun was above the horizon. He kept looking down the road to see if he could spy anyone else. There was another jogger; a thin man he had seen sometimes when he drove home from work. The man must workout both morning and night, all wiry muscles, and he set such a pace that Fitz could not believe how quickly he ran. He knew it was a pace he could not match.

He was about halfway done with this last lap and turning to swing around a corner, when he heard a bark, and looked to see the figure he had been hoping to see, down at the end of the street and coming towards him. He stopped, breathing heavily. Drenched in sweat, he was probably not the best sight to see, but he stood panting and waiting for her. She made her way down the street, and he waited with his hands on his hips as he was so overheated. Two of the dogs in her posse had stretch leashes—two Jack Russells—and came running up to him to sniff at his knees.

"Fitz," she said as she and the rest of the dogs approached.

"Liz," he said in a deeper voice than normal, breathless.

"Where are your dogs?" she asked.

"A little too early. The little ones can't keep up when I jog," he added since she was obviously out with _her_ dogs. "I was just finishing an extra-long run. I do it on Thursdays," he lied, and looked over at her. They were at the corner of two streets; she had stopped briefly. It did not mean she had really stopped to talk with him. He did not know if she would turn to walk towards his home, his shower, and the rest of his day, or if she would continue the way she had been walking. There was a wave of something that hit him then. A sort of shyness as she had not said anything more though she had not continued on.

He said, "well, I just stopped because I saw you. It was about time to slow down anyways. To cool down," he faltered even more.

"Come on guys," she called and turned down the street towards his house. He fell into step beside her.

"Do you really walk so early?" he asked hoping she would finally speak to him.

"Yes," she answered. "I am up and out by 6:00, come over to collect the dogs, and we set out together." She made a clicking noise with her tongue. "I am not certain that I wish to know you," she continued. Her eyes were ever in front of her, and she did not turn to seek his.

"Why?" he asked.

"I have to admit to a certain prejudice against rich guys because of the way they treat their dogs," she was looking down at the pack in front of her.

"I love my dog," he replied.

"You at least knew his name," she said.

"You gave me a point for that," he said.

"Half a point," she corrected, and he thought he could hear amusement in her voice.

"Okay, half a point," he conceded.

"But you are a business man. That is another group which I have learned to distrust and dislike," her pace quickened a little.

"I am a likable guy, a good man," he said.

"I docked you a whole point for being on your cell phone while walking your dogs," she said.

"What if we don't talk about my being rich or being in business? In fact we can stick to first names only," he offered.

"Okay," she agreed. "First names only."

They were nearing the end of that through-street, and he wondered which way she would turn. Whether she would turn his way so that she would see him walking to his house, and see where he lived.

"Are you turning left or right?" he asked.

"Right," she said.

"I am left, for home," he said. "Goodbye then."

"Bye," she replied. "Fitz." She could not wave though he was not sure if she wished to or would do such a thing if her hands were not full of dog leads. The twist she put on his name made him consider he either had no chance with her or she was flirting with him. He could not tell.

But just the fact that she alone, outside of his parents, called him that made him stop. Even his sister called him Mason because Georgie never knew him as anything other than Mason. She had been born after he had thrown that fit and insisted on using his middle name in school, and in every other context besides when his father insisted on making a point with him and ran through his full name.

"Liz," he said to himself as he walked back to his house. It sounded musical to his ears. It did not have that twist, the t-z that his own had. "Liz." He thought it must be short for something. She was probably an Elizabeth, maybe she was an Eliza; was she ever a Lizzy? He wondered why she was so wary of him. He wondered where she went to school. There must be a hundred colleges in the area if one counted community colleges, as well as universities. Where did she go to school, what was she studying? Where was she from? Where did she live?

* * *

Liz turned away, tugging at Gidget's leash who seemed inclined to follow their new acquaintance and not come along with her. She had instantly recognized him as soon as she looked down the street and saw that tall figure. He had waited for her, and she was not sure, still, how she felt about him: this chance encounter with a rich Atherton resident.

She put him in the same category as Kevin. Liz had thought she was over all of that, apparently the sense of abandonment could rear its head again, the pain of being rejected. Rejected because she had not measured up and would not fit in that world. Kevin had not only rejected buying her father's business and saving it from bankruptcy, but Kevin had rejected Liz and broken her heart. It was then that Liz had developed her points system, which was a meaningless exercise, but it gave her a way to measure and judge others. The points were arbitrary, the scale absurd, but it helped to keep most people at bay.

Liz's father, Tomaso Bennet, had owned a solar-panel business. In the early days of solar energy and solar panel installation, he had done well enough for his little family of five. Elisa, who disliked her name, so used Liz, was the middle child. She had an older sister, Jane, and a younger sister, Mary.

Her father had provided well enough for them but became a little lax about his business and assumed that the amount of money he made those first couple of years in solar energy would be what he would always take in, and was not so good about putting money away for rainy days which had caused him to run into trouble.

There were independent contractors who got into the solar business, and Tom Bennet had gotten into solar that way, being self-employed, but he kept coming up against franchises which cut into his territory and business. Mr. Bennet wanted to remain on his own, rather than be part of a franchise. He also did not like change. He did not like giving up his independence.

When the first offer to buy him out came from Bill Lucas, he soundly rejected it. For Lucas Solar was part of a franchise, part of a larger national chain. Lucas had also started from scratch, but Tomaso thought Bill had sold out by becoming part of that chain. Lucas went national and though he was doing well in the Merriton area, Tom Bennet held out.

Tomaso Bennet turned to Connor Merriton for help. In doing so, the Bennet family became known to the Merriton family, who were still the first family in the area (after all, their city was called Merriton). The Merriton family had started generations ago with sugar beets and sugar production in the early days of California (they still owned a number of farms). Some of the farms lay in rather windy parts of California, so they had put in windmills, which is how they had moved into the energy business, and how they came to be considering helping out Bennet Solar.

Mr. Merriton had two sons, Paul and Kevin. Paul was in his early twenties and had, at one time, dated Jane Bennet though Jane was too nerdy and technical for him. They had not hit it off. Jane was studying mechanical engineering and had not fit Paul's idea of a trophy wife for all that she had been voted 'most likely to get a modeling contract' her senior year in high school. They broke it off after only a month of fine dining.

Liz had been in her last year in high school when her father was negotiating with Connor Merriton. She had been doing nothing but studying to complete her final year before going off to college. She had, with that foolishness of youth, fallen in love with Kevin because why not? everything else was going so well for her. She had worked dilligently and done nothing but study for three years in an effort to get into a good school. To her mother's dismay, she had decided to study English. To her father's delight, she was admitted to Stanford.

It was just as she received her admission letter, and she felt she had a modicum of time to enjoy herself, be selfish, be a girl, that the Bennet and Merriton families were thrown together as there were a lot of negotiations, with Connor Merriton set to either buy out Mr. Bennet's business or to supply him with a private loan. (Tomaso had tried and failed with the banks already.) It was also then that Liz met and dated Kevin Merriton. Though Kevin was the younger son, he was said to be more of his father's heir, as far as his business acumen, and as far as taking over the family business. Her mother, on hearing her desired major (which Mrs. Bennet thought could not compare a lick to her older sister's focus) thought Liz should give over pursuing college and attempt to get Kevin Merriton to marry her. What a good thing it would be to have a rich, married daughter.

The day after her high school graduation, everything fell apart. Liz was thankful that she had sent in her acceptance letter. Thankful that so much of the getting into college had been done already. Mr. Merriton, Sr. abruptly pulled the offer of any sort of help to Mr. Bennet, either a loan or his out-right buying of the business. On the same day, Kevin told her he no longer thought she was pretty or that he cared for her; she was too plebeian. She had just been a fling. He thought her too dark; too much of a wet-back, and that it was over between them.

An eighteen year old is supposed to be ecstatically happy about completing high school and most people would probably give limbs or donate organs to say they had gotten into Stanford, yet Liz had cried a river in the weeks after Kevin broke up with her. She learned to distrust rich men. She felt she had reason to distrust all business men, period.

A month later, at the annual town Fourth of July picnic, Mr. Lucas and Mr. Bennet sat down to talk and came to terms to stave off Tom Bennet having to declare bankruptcy. Tom had to give up his independence, folded his business, and become a part of the Lucas Solar franchise which made him bitter and miserable.

The Bennets had known the Lucas family since the Lucas family had settled in Merriton when newlyweds. Liz was good friends with the oldest daughter, Charlotte, who was older than Jane and had, once upon a time, been a babysitter to the Bennet girls. Charlotte had been the only one who had been able to handle the Bennet daughters, who showed their Italian side, and their fiery temperaments, when they were younger.

It was Charlotte who had encouraged Liz in her studies, and Charlotte who told her to set her eyes on Stanford. Charlotte was also studying there. They currently lived together in that condo with Brad.

Charlotte had met Brad in graduate school. Brad shared the master suite in the condo with his boyfriend, Ron. Ron was not officially on the lease; he was not officially a roommate, but he was always over. Ron's stuff lived in the common areas; his food was in a designated cupboard, and his clothes took up half of Brad's closet.

Ron was not in college but he worked at a local outdoor sports store. It was one of the last holdouts that Liz had ever seen that did not give over to becoming part of some chain. The Trading Post catered to any outdoor sport imaginable, and Ron was an enthusiast for all of them and often dragged Brad away with him on his days off. It meant there were two fewer people in the condo on the weekends, which neither Liz nor Charlotte minded.

* * *

Fitzwilliam Mason hit the snooze button twice on Friday, pulled on jogging pants, and did his best to be as nonchalant about timing his run so he could meet Liz again. He dutifully ran his first two miles, but then attempted to figure out where her walks originated, but in doing so, he almost missed her, as he spied her turning off of one street from another further up the road from him. He had to sprint to catch up with her.

Most of the dogs were barking as his footsteps pounded on the pavement behind her, as he came upon their little pack. She had stopped and turned to see who was behind her.

"I thought it was Owen," she said.

He was too breathless to speak for a few minutes, and waved his hand that they should continue walking. "Who is Owen?" he was finally able to get out, wondering if he had a rival.

"He runs six miles every a.m. and every p.m. through your streets. You've probably seen him," she said. "Man bun, but other than that all decked out in running gear."

"I think I've seen him…some evenings…when I come home," he replied through ragged breaths. "He does twelve miles…a day?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Prince Rudolph's owner once told me that Owen's father had a heart attack in his early forties. I think Owen is afraid it is genetic or something, so he works out a lot. A little obsessively I think," she answered.

"Prince…Rudolph?" he asked, still with disjointed breaths.

She nodded and smiled. Despite the diminished morning light, her face had a glow as her lips turned upwards. Fitzwilliam Darcy thought he had never seen a woman's face literally light up before. "The Great Pyrenees, the white dog," she pointed with her chin since she could not use her hand. Prince Rudolph was the largest in her posse of dogs, and she had him firmly gripped in her right hand as they walked.

"He's big," it was the obvious thing to say, and he felt foolish once the words left his mouth.

"Not as big as Jack," she turned to look at him and a smaller version of that smile still played on her face. "You ought to bring him with you in the mornings. You said the little ones cannot keep up, but he surely can with those long legs. Though I am not sure if they are as long as yours." She looked down at his jogging pants and back up to his eyes.

He was not sure what to make of that glance. "Jack is too old, I fear. He never runs anymore; he only ambles."

"That is a shame. He could still do with a walk."

"Yes, he still can do with a walk." He felt they had been making progress, had she been flirting with him? But then suddenly they were back at the starting gate again. They reached a corner and turned to keep going towards their final destinations down that last street, and he searched for a new topic. "Do you walk so early on the weekends too?"

"No." She answered. The two dogs in her left hand did not enable him to walk close to her. Two others had stretch leads and ran in front, and Prince Rudolph lumbered on her other side. "I get my weekends off, like most decent folk. Do you, Mr. Business Man, work most weekends?"

"Alas, I often do," he admitted. "I get up and run or workout, but have the luxury of having a less-structured day."

"It's all about making money to you, isn't it!" She stopped abruptly to turn and look at him. "How can I bleed the next dollar out of some poor soul who cannot truly afford to pay."

"Liz, you don't know anything about me or my business, and I thought we weren't going to talk about that. I can tell you what I do if you want to know," he argued. "What if I run some micro-lending business and am providing funds to women in third world countries to raise them out of poverty, would you like me then?"

" _Do_ you run a micro-lending business?" she countered as she started walking again.

"No," he answered truthfully.

"But you want me to like you?" she asked looking over at him.

He nodded his head before he answered, "yes. Yes I do."

"I…I don't normally like rich guys," she said, looking away from him.

"Because they don't treat their dogs well," he answered for her.

"Because…I have a history," she answered. "You can't see them, but there are scars on the palms of these hands and on my feet where the stakes were driven," she looked down, and then out at road and quickened her pace. "Goodbye, Fitz."

"Goodbye, Liz," he called after her form.

He lingered in his shower, found his breakfast waiting for him, but Yvonne had left to get her son to school and walk the dogs, so he took his time and picked at his food and drank all of his coffee in his own kitchen for the first time on a weekday. He wondered if Liz liked coffee or did she drink tea? Was she a morning person by nature or did she need caffeine to be able to get up to do her job? He formulated far more questions than he could possibly ask her in the ten minutes they had together every morning.


	3. Greenbacks

Chapter Three

"Greenbacks"

 _She looked at me with that familiar desire  
_ _Her eyes lit up like they were on fire  
_ _She said, "My name's Flo, and you're on the right track  
_ _But look here, daddy, I wear furs on my back  
_ _So if you want to have fun in this man's land  
_ _Let Lincoln and Jackson start shaking hands_

 _On a greenback, greenback dollar bill  
_ _Just a little piece of paper, coated with chlorophyll_

Alejandra was always in the office at eight o'clock on the dot. The fact that she beat her boss into the office did not go unnoticed, and without comment. It was not in her nature to hold her tongue around him. She felt it part of her job, as his personal assistant, to keep him in line with her tongue, so if caustic remarks were required, Alex did not hold back.

"In three years on board here Mason, I have never known you to be late. You had the flu and dutifully stayed home after Yvonne and I convinced you to remain in bed last December, but 8:30? You are lucky there was no mangers' meeting this morning." She had walked into his office with her phone in-hand, and with a determined demeanor. "There is nothing pressing this morning, though you are slated to have lunch with Bob and that new VP who is supposed to start on Monday: Charles Bingley. I thought Chantilly would be nice."

"I think that is over-the-top, Alex," Fitzwilliam said, looking at her. For the first time since he hired her, he considered his assistant through a different lens. Chantilly was a pricey restaurant. One better suited for wooing investors, and not one for a quick luncheon with a new VP who was already on board with the company. Besides which, they needed to return to work afterward and there was always wine at Chantilly luncheons. Fitz wondered why Alex had suggested it, wondered if she wanted to invite herself along. She often did come, 'to take notes.' But this should be a simple, informal, and welcoming luncheon. He and Bob knew Charles quite well, anyway.

"Something simpler. We will need to get back to work. As you pointed out, I was late getting in. I will need to make up the time," he looked at her.

She was nonplussed. "A steakhouse it is. Boys!" she cried, and turned to go.

* * *

Alex Carlyle was efficient, always on top of things, in the know about all company matters, and in a pinch, had been a good 'plus one,' when Mason needed a date for some business function. Her mother was German (having moved to the United States for a job where she met Mr. Carlyle) and had dubbed her Alejandra when there was a fad to name German children with Spanish names. Alex always felt she, at least, got the better deal than her sister Juanita. Alex took pains to explain her origins least she be mistaken for being Hispanic. Her prettiness was tailored, and she worked hard at it. She was dedicated to Pemberley Energy, and especially dedicated to her boss, Mason Darcy.

She did not _mind_ her job, but she would really rather not have to work. In three years with the company, she had been exposed to a world she did not realize existed outside of books, _but was real._ People really did own mansions, drive pricey cars, owned second homes and vacation homes—or had apartments in Paris for whimsical trips should the mood strike. Not that her boss, Mason, was ever an extravagant man. But, Alex had no intention of continuing to live a _reasonable_ life if she could land a rich husband.

Mason Darcy had not dated anyone in the three years that she had been with Pemberley Energy. In Silicon Valley there were not many chief executive officers (CEOs) to choose from who were both single and attractive. A CEO, she reckoned, was better than a chief financial officer (CFOs were often all about crunching numbers—and possibly pinching them) as such a husband might be a little too interested in cost-savings. Mason's cousin Bob was Pemberley's CFO.

In her two years as Mason's PA, she had had her hair lightened, improved her wardrobe when she figured out where the sales women shopped, capped her teeth, and spent more time at the gym. After her second year of employment, he had begun to ask her on dates whenever there was some business event where her boss considered it would look better to have a woman on his arm. If you were going to make a name for yourself, attend charity events, or business dinners, and promote your company at such an venue, you needed a beautiful woman on your arm. Alex had no illusions that it was a true, romantic date. Not like Bob Richardson and the half dozen women he seemed to date at once. Bob Richardson was all hands whenever he brought a date to a combination business/society event and often left early with more plans for _afterward_.

Alex knew Mason was married to his job, and she was happy to let him continue to be so, even after he married her. It could be a marriage on paper if he wished. Sometimes such things were arranged, open marriages. It was difficult to be the owner and manager of a business and be single; he must know that. Businessmen should be married; people—investors, customers and employees—all trusted a married boss far more than a single one. There was also a social aspect to being a businessman, all those night and weekend events where having a wife to smile, and make small talk, and pick up gossip or news tidbits, or to put in a good word, would help out. Alejandra was more than willing to trade in her last name to be such a helpmate if she could leave over earning her own paycheck.

She had her own bedroom suite in his house; Alex considered that an achievement. There was a bedroom across from his home office, and she had taken it over for her own. She thought of it as her away-office, but there was still a bed there. It had an en-suite bath and walk-in closet which held a few evening dresses so, in a pinch, she was ready for any social event. She knew the access code to the gate at the driveway, and the code for the garage. She was miffed that there was no bay for her own car as the garage only parked three. She could not understand Mason only having a three-car garage if he lived in such a prestigious zip code, but that garage only provided room for his car, his sister's car (which Georgie had not taken with her to college) and Yvonne's.

Mason Darcy would wake up one day and realize what he had in her was what he needed as CEO of such a prestigious Silicon Valley firm. Alex was perfectly happy to bide her time while she waited for Mason Darcy to realize what a good thing she was.


	4. That Lucky Old Sun

Chapter Four

"That Lucky Old Sun (Rolls Around Heaven All Day)"

 _Up in the mornin' out on the job  
_ _Work like the devil for my pay  
_ _But that lucky old sun has nothin' to do  
_ _But roll around heaven all day_

Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy woke up on Saturday and turned off his alarm clock. He lay back in his bed. It was a king-sized bed, and he lay in luxury and comfort and brooded. There was no other way to characterize what he was doing. He was moody, and dwelling on a problem, though he could not categorize _Liz_ as a problem. It was just that _Saturday_ was his problem. Saturday was a weekend day. On the weekends, Liz said that she did not walk the dogs. What was he to do with himself that morning? And the next? Though their time together was short, the rush he felt in getting outside and running, and then the joy of discovering her these past mornings had given him such a thrill, such a sense of pleasure. He was hard pressed to name exactly how he felt besides _interested_. Fitz was not good at explaining his own feelings as he had largely given over having or expressing any emotions.

Before life had gone pear-shaped, as his British friend (now turned work colleague) Charles Bingley would say, he had often dated, swapping out a new girlfriend most years in high school and into college. In his last two years in college he felt he had been deeply in love with Kathleen Long and had contemplated proposing to her when news had come first, just after he had returned to school, that despite all their hopes, and the best doctors, his mother's cancer caught up with her, and she died in the middle part of September. By March he had lost his father. The relationship with Kathleen did not survive his family grief.

Fitzwilliam had no time for relationships then. For years, he worked at the business. He had to deal with his father's death, which was not simply a matter of a burying his father and holding a memorial service. There was his eleven year old sister who was now an orphan. There was the company to cope with. He was thankful his Aunt Ellen was still alive. Ellen and his father, William, had founded Pemberley Energy together. Ellen Richardson had already retired from the business and given her position up to her son, Robert. Had Fitz not had her support, the internal battle, which had largely amounted to a coup attempt by a group of employees, might have succeeded.

Fitz had to take a leave of absence from school and finished his last quarter by taking classes remotely. He never got to wear the cap and gown. When the internal coup did not succeed, those people all quit, taking their tribe with them, and Fitzwilliam had struggled those first two years with staffing and rebuilding and working obscene hours.

They were not the only company working in energy. It was a trend, especially among some venture capitalists who funded a lot of alternative energy companies, especially biofuels, all interested in getting the United States away from its dependence on foreign oil or coal. However, Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy was not one to bank on the glamour of biofuels; he stuck to more known and more bankable entities like solar, wind, and improving battery life and function.

When he was still in college, he had made the acquaintance of a foreign student, Charles Bingley, who seemed the opposite of the reticent, keep calm, British stiff-upper-lip type. Charles was a joking and gregarious fellow, and Mason appreciated his friend's humor and ability to work his way around a room when Mason would rather stick to his one drink and leave early.

Though they met in college, they stayed good friends. Charles (never Chuck) proved himself invaluable because he stayed by Mason's side even through his difficulties with losing his father and taking on the helm of the company. Charles had the luxury of being able to go to graduate school while Mason needed to go to work. Charles was one of those types of people you always hope to meet and hold onto as a friend. Mason appreciated Charles Bingley every day.

* * *

Fitzwilliam did not get as much work done as he had planned on Saturday. For the first time in seven years, he stepped away from his computer at five o'clock and left the study to go seek Jack who lay in his usual spot in the family room. Fitz sat down on the floor next to his dog with Jack's head on his thigh and lost himself in stroking the dog's ears while he thought about his early morning encounters with the rather anonymous Liz.

Sunday afternoon he pulled open a map program and looked at the nearby streets attempting to figure out where she came from. He figured she probably came down his street and swung up and around, missing his house by walking on some through streets to add a little time or distance to her walk, before she turned again onto his street. Fitz spent time considering how he could run his miles in the morning and still encounter her. He wanted to maximize how much time he would have to talk with Liz.

He woke to his alarm Monday morning and was ready to jog. He considered taking the dogs and wondered what she would say if he did—whether she would consider it an insincere attempt by him to impress or whether she would value him for it. Finally deciding it was best to simply jog, Fitz ran the opposite way he had been going, clocking his two miles first around one development, then around his own block, but running in a counterclockwise direction so he might catch her when she first started down his street.

And it worked. He saw her turning off that first cut-through street and onto his own. She was ahead of him now. Was he too far back? His extra mile had taken a bit of a toll on him as he was not a regular road runner, and he had only walked the dogs that weekend. He found he had no burst of energy to catch up with her, but she must have sensed or heard him behind her, as she turned to see him and stopped.

"That was unexpected," she said when he was near enough. He jogged up to her but could not stop cold, so he jogged in place, and she began walking again and he met her pace.

"I am trying…to add…additional mile…to my route," he said.

"It has nothing to do with _my_ route?" she asked.

"Perhaps it…does," his breathing was still ragged. "How long…are your walks?"

"About two miles," replied Liz. "Gidget, like your Jack, is getting old and cannot do long walks. She sometimes stops and begs me to carry her."

"And do you?"

She smiled at him, and he thought his heart leapt up into his throat as she did. Perhaps she was only looking over at the dog, one of the two on her left. "Perhaps I am kinder to dogs than I am to people," she remarked.

"How was your weekend?" A rather patent question, but he wanted to know the answer.

"I am a college student; I do nothing but study. Since I am an English major it often means I do nothing but read."

"English!" he cried with a thrill at uncovering a fact.

"That is exactly how my mother sounded when I told her that was to be my subject of choice," her eyebrows came down, and she tugged Gidget and the other dog away from him as a response.

"No," he said, "I am just happy to learn something about you. You are tight-lipped about yourself."

"I am a mystery woman, hmm?" she teased.

"Yes," he replied. "I sort of feel as though I cannot ask you any questions. I have to wait for you to throw me crumbs."

"You liken yourself to a fat pigeon?" she laughed, and Prince Rudolph looked up at her. Fitz thought her laugh captivating.

"I should hope not! It is why I workout every day," he replied with laughter in his voice. "So, English…"

"Don't you dare ask me what I am going to do with an English degree," she barked at him.

"Okay," he answered, and they walked for almost an entire section without speaking. There were only the metal sounds of dog harnesses, or the clips on their leads, and the click of their toenails on the pavement; he could not hear the sounds of the humans as the dog sounds drowned out their own soft, rubber-soled feet.

"My beautiful, perfect sister is studying engineering. But that was too close.." Liz faltered and made a clicking noise with her mouth.

"You resent your sister?" he prompted.

"Oh no! I did not mean _that_. She _is_ perfect, and I mean that she really is: beauty _and_ brains. I just could never compete, keep up," she said. "Besides there is some…family history." Liz looked sideways, away from him, at the house beside her though Fitz reckoned she must have seen the house multiple times on her morning walks.

"We've ventured off topic," he said.

"Yes," she replied, talking to the bushes. "I think I may need to dock you a half point."

"That leaves me net zero," he complained.

"Your fault for being nosy," she replied, and turned right as she did most days, right and off to her day. He stood and watched her go.

He was ten minutes late to sitting on his usual barstool to eat his breakfast.

"Have you been doing a longer run this past week?" asked Yvonne.

"Yes," he said. He took a bite of an omelet, a slightly cold omelet she had cooked for him that morning based on his usual schedule, and avoided her gaze. He did not want to discuss the true reason he had been running four miles instead of three the past week—even why he had been jogging outside and not using his treadmill.

"Is it lighter that you can see?" she prompted.

"Mostly," he answered, and his short answers discouraged any more questions. He finished his breakfast and drove to work.

Traffic caught him up, and Alex had, apparently, decided to come in early because it was Charles' first day.

"7:44," she tapped her wrist though there was no watch on it. "You're late," her head tilted down so she looked up at him as though a disapproving grandmother.

"I'm the boss," he quipped, and closed his door. He booted his laptop up though his eyes were not exactly focused on the screen. He had a plethora of communications to catch up on, something he had neglected that weekend. Emails and voicemails he had not 'seen to' while on a treadmill. He had, instead, worked at discovering the best route to run so he could have the longest time talking to Liz. Not that they had talked the whole time they had together that morning; he had run into some awkward territory, apparently. She was, as she styled herself, a mystery woman. She spoke of a sister, a perfect sister. He wondered about that relationship; it sounded like this was an older sister, one to both envy and resent.

"Mason, I have your schedule here," interrupted Alex, who had walked in without knocking. "Chuck wants to meet with you at 8:30, and Molly wants some of your time to discuss sales figures at 10:00."

"Alex," he looked up at her and made sure to catch her eye. "My door was closed."

"Yes?" she appeared to not understand his point, though from his years of working with her, he thought she _chose_ not to understand.

"I have some personal business to see to, and I am quite capable of managing my schedule. Please close the door behind you," and he turned back to his screen. He had to leave his thoughts about Liz behind (whose last name he still did not know) and catch up on dire emails before he met with Charles. He would also need to let Alex know to never, _ever_ , call Charles Bingley 'Chuck,' in his presence if she wished to remain on Bingley's good side.

Having that good friend join Pemberley Energy was a bright point for Fitzwilliam that year (though his chance meeting with Liz-the-dog-walker had also brightened his days and his outlook). He and Charles made the rounds at work, putting in a long day, and then dined together.

They talked about work, but also talked of years past, of school, old friends, and current circumstances. Charles Bingley was an outgoing, almost overly friendly man. His accent made him instantly popular in any room, and people, both men and women, flocked to him to chat at parties, conferences, in school classrooms, work lunch rooms, or even in public places. His easy-going manner and even eager-to-please personality soon had some people put off. Women often labeled him 'too nice,' and it was the most-used reason his girlfriends had for dumping him.

That he had two degrees in engineering did not seem to merit as much weight or attention as his handsome face, his fancy accent, or his wealth. That he came from money, 'old money,' as the saying went, thrilled many when they discovered he was one of _those_ Bingleys, from Yorkshire—in England! Americans had their ideas about anyone who talked with such an accent, especially women, and when he did not measure up, they were left disappointed. Having grown up with money, but in England, was far different than having grown up with it in America. Taxes were slowly making most of the wealthy far less so in England which was why Charles was currently residing in California and working for a living.

Charles was not an egocentric, arrogant rich man which seemed to disappoint a number of women, who almost expected him to treat them badly, though all the while lavishing expensive gifts and thrilling, whimsical weekends on them, while he himself drove expensive cars and had expensive toys. He had not even purchased a home as he had not decided where he should like to live. Bingley was not certain if he would remain in the United States—become a citizen—or return to England. He did, however, drive a Porsche.

"I blame television," Charles complained as they finished their meal. "I do not understand women almost expect me to cheat on them with their best friend so long as I fly them to New York to see a Broadway show for a fancy weekend."

"Have you considered _not_ dating?" asked Fitzwilliam.

Charles looked at his friend as though such an idea _had_ never occurred to him, and he would rather give up breathing. "No," he shook his head. "The next one is always prettier than the last. I can't help myself." He leaned back to look at Fitzwilliam. "How do _you_ resist?"

"I have a company to run. If I need to attend a function, I have Alex as a stand-in."

"That's not the same," Charles smiled. His face took on a serious look. "Have you ever slept with her?"

"No, not that she hasn't hinted," answered Fitzwilliam who seemed to grimace at the subject. "I have been considering that I need to find someone else to bring to social functions which require a date as it is getting more and more difficult to get her out of the car afterward."

"What happened to Claire? That lawyer? That was a few years back after you got the company on an even keel and were not putting in one hundred hour weeks."

"I hired her," replied Fitzwilliam.

"Does that preclude you dating her?" Bingley looked confused.

"When you're the boss, you cannot date anyone who works for you, sort of the rules, Charles," Fitzwilliam shook his head, though he smiled as well. He could see Charles getting himself into a tight situation given how often his head was turned by a pretty face.

"Did you _have_ to hire her?" pressed Charles.

"I needed a good contract lawyer, and she was the best," explained Fitz.

"Maybe you could fire her and then date her again?" suggested his friend.

"I don't think her husband would be happy on either of those two counts. She got married a year ago."

"Oh." Said Charles. "Nothing then? When was the last time you went on a proper date? Your PA does not count," asked his friend.

"Three years, I think. After Claire there was a woman I met at some benefit, and we dated a bit, but…"

"I don't like the _but_ ," said Charles, "she wasn't your type?"

"Like you said, they have expectations when they label you a rich man. Let's just say I was not _rich enough_ for her. I was a _working_ rich man. She wanted one who did nothing but live off of his investments and had time to take her places."

"Was the sex at least good?" asked Bingley.

"Charles, we're out in public," cried his friend.

Bingley was not one to give up. "Well, was it?" pressed his friend.

"Mediocre, she was far too artificially constructed," answered Fitzwilliam.

"Mason, I think we should go out to a bar next and find you a pretty, naturally-shaped girl if you haven't had…" he wolf-whistled, "in years," said Charles.

"Welcome to the working world," said his friend Darcy—who was also his boss. Fitzwilliam pulled out his phone and showed the time. "It is Monday night, and we best retire as we should be in the office tomorrow morning, for _work._ "

"Spoil sport," said Charles. "This may only be my second job, but I may regret this venture."

"Please do not turn into one of those rich guys who only live off of their investments, my friend," said Fitzwilliam.

"I won't," assured his friend, Charles Bingley.


	5. Misty

Chapter Five

"Misty"

 _Can't you see that you're leading me on?  
_ _it's just what I want you to do,  
_ _Don't you notice how hopelessly  
_ _I'm lost  
_ _That's why I'm following you._

At about the same time that Darcy and Bingley quit the restaurant to go home, Liz was finishing up her Monday evening class. One of her courses was a creative writing class on how to write for video games. Liz had not known what had inspired her to take the class in the first place. She did not particularly _like_ video games, but had needed to fill her schedule (and did not like early morning classes). But she was in Silicon Valley, after all: home of video games and computers. Steve and Steve: Jobs and Wozniack, Apple, Atari, computer hardware and software. Somehow, she had thought that taking _this class_ would be an appropriate choice.

It was apparent that everyone else in the class had at least played video games. A few weeks in, she was not sure why she had not dropped the class. It also did not help _that_ particular Monday that she paid no attention whatsoever in class, and instead her mind kept wandering to her morning walks.

It had been exactly a week ago that she met him. It had been a holiday, his name was Fitz. He was a rich man—she had subtly accused him of it, and he had not denied it. He jogged in Atherton, though not everyone who jogged in Atherton _lived_ in Atherton. She only made an assumption that he lived there. But there was something about him. He wore jogging pants, and the only people she knew who wore jogging pants were rich men. She knew Owen, that obsessive jogger, but he only _ran_ through Atherton; Owen lived in a nearby city, and wore jogging shorts.

Liz had friends who talked about being burned by relationships. She had not been burned: she had been scorched, ground up, then plowed under. Her entire life had been altered, its course turned, by her relationship with Kevin Merriton. She had been irrevocably changed by her relationship with that young arrogant rich man's son.

She had been young and foolish and opened up her heart to someone. It had all been for naught. Liz had only been part of a contract negotiation. When Connor Merriton had decided it did not suit his business purposes, Kevin Merriton had decided that Liz did not suit his interests, and dropped her, but not without parting shots about both her looks and her family connections. Digs about the fact was that her father's family had come from Italy, and her mother's family had come from Mexico, and neither was suitable.

It hurt. For all that her mother had told her _sticks and stones may break your bones_ …that nursery rhyme: it hurt. She had wished, at the time, that one of her grandmothers was alive to turn to, but especially Nonna. Liz supposed it was only the fact that she had come from a rather loving and supportive family that had gotten her through the episode, and allowed her to survive as well as she did. The situation had also changed her father, who bemoaned the loss of his business and his independence.

Her mother, Minerva Bennet, was a rather nutty creature. Liz and Jane and Mary joked that she was borderline lunatic, erratic and selfish; a woman who liked pretty things, but that did not preclude Minnie from caring for them. Oddly, it was Mrs. Bennet who had provided support when the Merriton deal fell through; it was Mrs. Bennet who talked her husband into taking the Lucas' offer, Mrs. Bennet and Jane who had talked Liz into seeing she had a future and that she should go to college.

Once the crisis was averted, however, it did not mean that Minnie Bennet kept from her selfish ways. When her husband was employed again and making money, she felt very able to spend it again. That they would have daughters in college at the same time, for many years, was not a concern for Minerva. She showed no compunction about spending, whether she _felt_ one was something entirely different. But her daughters had to go into debt to pay their college expenses.

That was another reason Minnie felt that, perhaps, Liz ought not to go to Stanford as the costs were so high; she ought not to study English, for what was one to do with English? Perhaps she ought to go somewhere else that was cheaper and pick a more reasonable major? Something that would make her more employable, like business. She might meet a nice business man, or the son of a businessman with such a major. That situation with Kevin Merriton had been harrowing, it had been terrible, and though Minerva Bennet _did_ understand when affairs of the heart went sour, she felt poor Elisa _could_ love again.

Liz snapped out of her reverie and realized she had not paid a whit of attention in class. She had been caught up in her thoughts, caught up in thinking through her own experiences in life. Caught up in thinking about her three years of English and realizing she could not espouse what exactly she wanted to do with that English degree though that education had been superb. The caliber of the students had been what she wished, the teaching staff had been exceptional, and the courses challenging and fulfilling.

But it was sometimes a class like this one which made her know that she did not want to write for video games, despite the fact that this was Silicon Valley. _That's not my cup of tea, please and thank you very much._ There had been a part of her brain which thought: _I should have studied engineering._ That _was the family business._ Jane had; she was studying mechanical engineering—fluid dynamics—and she had turned out exceptional. She had a head for it. She was studying wind energy, looking at improving the efficiency of wind turbines, and motor design, and was in a graduate program.

 _There was something terribly attractive about Fitz,_ Liz admitted to herself. She was enjoying his company each morning. _There is something almost sweet about running into him, with his obvious attempts at being casual._ It was obvious that he was deliberately attempting to seek her out. What she did not know was what she wanted to do about that. She was a little more comfortable in her own skin these days, and felt more settled in herself. After being dumped by Kevin, she had not felt inclined to date when she left for college. She felt discouraged when young men made an effort to come sit next to her in class.

Liz mostly had allowed school to frame her time. She took as many classes as she could fit in. She made friends. She allowed herself to be persuaded to hang out in one of the on-campus coffee bars and to attend the occasional party. But for the most part, she read, she wrote papers, she attended classes, and every morning, Monday through Friday, she woke up and walked dogs.

Most freshmen are required to live on campus at Stanford. But Liz had an 'in' with her friend Charlotte, who was sharing that apartment with Brad. There had been another roommate who was moving out. Char wanted the middle bedroom, and suggested that Liz move into the smaller one. It was a cost-saving move for Liz. Though she did not get to experience living in the dorms, like so many other eighteen year olds, it saved her money since she was paying her own way.

It had been Brad who had pulled the strings to land her the dog-walking job. First finding Prince Rudolph's owners, and then Barkington's owners, who then recommended their next-door neighbors, the Hugh's, who said they were getting too old and quite liked the idea of a responsible young lady walking their Gidget. It was not until her second year that she had picked up Orion and Sirus' owner, and then decided five dogs was enough. Some thought she might handle more, since these rich families were ready to pay her $20 a day per dog, but five leads in two hands was enough. And now she had an extra body in the morning, this Fitz. But Liz went back and forth with whether his company was a pleasure or a pain.

You meet people, and they are interesting, but so often they are _intellectually_ interesting. Liz had found that in her years at school there were many people who sparked her interest on an _intellectual_ level, but there was something about this man, Fitz, which had caught her attention the moment that she made that first snarky comment to him about his cell phone use. There was no accounting for why she was attracted to him. There was something charming and sweet about his liking her in return. That maybe admiration and love and romance and all of that was not so misguided.

* * *

He met her in the same spot as the day before. He had timed it better that she was just turning off onto the road; Fitz still had been running fairly hard and was a little out of breath. He was required to stop a little abruptly and to walk at an old dog's pace like Gidget next to him. Liz returned his greeting.

"How do I earn more points?" he panted.

"I don't know," she answered. It came out honestly and not as though she was teasing.

"How do you award points then? You have taken all of mine away. How do you normally award points?" he repeated.

"I rarely award points," she admitted, and glanced at him with a contemplative look on her face.

"You do…you don't give away that many? I suppose I should feel honored that you deigned to give me a half point though you took it away."

"Yes," she smiled then. He thought that they had moved away from sincerity into jesting. Her face changed a little. "I suppose I simply need to be more comfortable with you."

"How does that happen?" he asked.

"I need to know a little more about you," she said.

"But we agreed to first names only. We are being cautious," he pointed out.

"It's a dilemma," she admitted. One of the dogs on the stretch leads had extended it too far; she pushed the button to reel him back in.

"Do we have rules for questions?" he asked her. "Topics I cannot ask?"

"You can ask me questions, but do not always expect me to answer everything you ask," she answered. The sincere tone was back.

"I asked you…I admitted that I wanted you to like me…do _you_ want to like _me_?"

"I think I do," she said. Again she sounded honest and not teasing. They seemed to bounce back and forth between quips and sincerity.

"That is a start then, if you like me back and do not wish for me to go away. You don't mind that I walk along with you? I suppose I have never formally asked you if that was okay. I have simply imposed my running schedule with your walking schedule."

"No," she said. "I don't mind." There was silence, a companionable silence, as he thought about her welcoming him, formally, to join her on her walks each morning. If that was not a victory, he defied anyone to call it anything else.

They were nearing the end of that day's walk, and he was not sure if they had covered enough ground, topic-wise, to suit him. He wondered if he could ask her out, but he was not sure that they were at that point yet, despite the formal agreement to walk together in the mornings.

"Are you like your mother?" he said suddenly. She looked at him and did not reply. Perhaps it was a forbidden subject, and he should avoid asking about her family.

"My sister is quite like my mother. It is uncanny," he offered. "I think, sometimes, that genetics and nature has far more to do with our make-up than all the nurturing and education we receive or which can be crammed into us." He paused, but still she did not respond. "My sister is the same loving and trusting person, so like my mother. As I said, uncanny."

They were almost at their corner of parting, and he wanted to part on a positive note, but now worried he had ventured into difficult territory. How did he discuss his own mother without discussing her death?

"I have often wished there were parts of me that were not aspects of my mother," she said, offering him a crumb. "But there are." Liz turned to go. "Enjoy your Tuesday, Fitz."

"Thank you, Liz." He watched her walk down the street again.

He held onto that goodbye, that 'Fitz.' There was a lilt to her voice when she said goodbye to him that he took as a positive sign, and he took it with him through his day despite his breakfast being cold.

* * *

The dogs had begun to greet him now that they were exercising together in the mornings. It was Gidget and Barkington whose tails wagged joyfully at the sight of him. He stopped to say, "good morning," to the pair and to ruffle the Jack Russels' ears before he looked up at her, his Liz. "Good morning, Liz."

"Good morning, Fitz," she said.

He had timed it even better that morning that he was not so out of breath, and he had slowed down to a walking pace before he met up with her, and her posse of pups.

"I fear it is going to rain most of today," she said. "We are lucky; there is always a break in the morning when out walking at this time. It is odd that the weather pattern is like that. It may rain all night, but it lightens up just at dawn then pours again once all those poor saps are in their cars and need to commute."

"I had not noticed," he admitted. "If it rained during the night, I never considered running in the morning but simply worked out on my treadmill at home."

"You have a treadmill at home," she prompted.

"Yes," he answered.

"So many people I know with treadmills have them stuck in a corner of a bedroom and never use them. But you actually use yours?" she asked.

"I have a workout room," he said. "And I did actually use mine until I started walking or running every morning," and he grinned looking over at her.

"A workout room," she said with a note of tension in her voice, "that sounds like an awfully big house."

"Perhaps it is," he answered. He could sense that she was withdrawing; particularly by the way that she pulled the dogs closer to her in response to his words. Any mention or hint that he had money seemed to make her uncomfortable, and he noted that. He thought he should be wary of talking too much about his net worth around her though sometimes things just slipped out. Like the fact that he had a workout room.

"Your sister," said Liz, changing the subject. "You mentioned she is in college. Is she in graduate school?"

"No, she is only a sophomore."

"Really? My sister Mary is a freshman." He thought about that. She had mentioned her beautiful and perfect sister, and he had a sense it was an older sister, not a younger one. People do not often admire their younger siblings in the same way that they admire their older siblings; he began to consider that perhaps there were _two_ sisters. Though it could be Liz was someone who simply loved her family, and loved her sister dearly.

"Is she nearby that you get to see her often?" asked Liz.

"She is in Texas," he replied. "So no, I don't."

"Oh," she turned to him with sympathy then, projecting her own feelings onto his situation, "I do not know what I would do if my sister was so far away. Are you often in touch?"

"Yes, how about you?" he asked, determined to wheedle some information from her, determined to wheedle _something_ from her before they ended their morning together. "Your sister, Mary, do you see her often?"

"Yes," she said. "She is across the bay, in Oakland. I pick her up, and we go home to visit Mom and Dad for the weekend."

"Is that the reason that you do not walk dogs on the weekend?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. "Perhaps we have never been able to truly cut the umbilical cord." Her voice was full of amusement. "I think it is my mother who has not been able to let us go, for she always wants to see us and hear about our lives; woe betide that we are not there for Sunday dinners."

"So your parents live somewhere close enough for you to drive home on the weekends, close enough that you are able to eat Sunday dinners with them and still make it back to college by Monday morning to walk the dogs," he grinned, and raised his eyebrows up and down in a funny manner.

"Clever of you," she said as they reached their corner of parting.

"I am working hard at this, Liz," he said, then he threw out one last question. "Where does your sister go to school?"

"Mills," she answered. "If my mother thought English was an abhorrent choice, Mary has mortified her, because she chose Women's Studies," she almost cackled then, it was the only way to characterize the laughter as she shared that little tidbit with him. "My mother is certain that Mary will never be employed, and going to an all-girls college means she will never meet anybody."

But she reached out to touch him and his heartbeat, which had slowed down since he had stopped jogging to walk, started racing again as those fingers touched his upper arm. "Mary does not like men, so it is like a bonanza, a smorgasbord, to go to an all-girls college, don't you see?" And her amusement at both her mother's mortification, but her sister's delight was evident. "Goodbye, Fitz," she said.

"Goodbye, Liz," he said. She let go of his arm, and he watched her go.

He considered that last tidbit. If this sister, which she gathered to her on their way home every weekend, studied Women's Studies it meant there was another who studied engineering—that perfect one. His Liz had at least two sisters.

His day was busy; the type that had back-to-back meetings. Charles had been on board for two days, had a chance to acclimatize himself with the company, but the true work for him now began. The reason Darcy had hired him meant there would be a lot of meetings to discuss the changes Charles intended, which would direct the company as far as windmill design.

It was mid-afternoon when Fitzwilliam had finally gotten a chance to be back in his office to catch up on his correspondence when his PA came in with a sandwich.

"I was out," she smiled as she pushed open his half-closed door. "I knew you would skip lunch unless you had someone to take care of you, you need looking after, on days like this," she said.

"Ah," he sighed, looking up at her, "I had not realized that I did. What with Yvonne feeding me in the morning and you bringing me lunch because I forgot to eat. I have been having dinner with Charles every day. And by the way Alex," his voice became sharp, "he is not ever to be called Chuck."

"Really?" she looked indifferent to his admonishment, "whatever."

"If you want to stay on both of our good sides, he is Charles."

"Yes, Mason," and she sounded like an admonished schoolchild then, hurt and almost tearful. "What if I stopped bringing you lunches?"

"I would starve until Charles and I went out to eat, or I would have to eat bigger breakfasts, I suppose," he answered looking back to the report on his laptop screen. "I do appreciate your looking out for me," he placated, not really wishing to offend her. He did not want to look for another PA right then, even though she had her good and bad points.

"There is that charity," she said, pulling her phone out, "so long as I have your undivided attention, and you are eating." She paused to catch his eye, staring in his direction until he looked back up at her, "do you have a moment?"

"Yes," he answered.

"That charity event that Claire's husband is throwing on Friday. You have not RSVP'd yet. You were tentative about it. I _totally_ understand," she said with an overly sympathetic tone to her voice.

"Claire and I are on good terms," he said. He knew that Alex was fully aware of his history with Claire Jones. "Actually, I made other plans," he said. "I forgot about the charity event."

"You made other plans? Ahh, I don't see it here, shall I put it on your calendar then?" she asked, tapping her phone screen and apparently doing a search.

"I have personal plans," he explained. "My personal life does not have to be on my work calendar, Alex."

"Oh!" there was a pause, and Alejandra stood there with her phone in-hand and with her face frozen. "Okay then. Let me know if you need a cup of coffee," she turned and left.

It came to him as he was talking to Alex that he would ask Liz out to dinner on Friday night. He would have to leave work early and not interrupt her schedule. She said that she went home for the weekend, wherever home was. That she picked up her sister on the way there so it could not be a protracted dinner, but he was going to do it. He was determined.

He ate the sandwich that Alex brought him. He noted neither the taste nor the texture; he could not even tell what type it was as he thought through all the possibilities of a first date. He realized so many of his dinners were business-related and were in fancy restaurants. Fitz did not quite know where to take Liz, what type of food did she like? He could only think that there was a Japanese place that Georgie liked, where they went sometimes for casual dinners. He tried to concentrate on work, but was distracted considering how to ask Liz, the unknown Liz, out to dinner on Friday.

He and Charles did not dine together because of the rain, but ran off to their respective homes straight from work. Charles admitted he had become less immune to rain now that he was living in California. Being from England one simply got on with life, despite the rain, but rain made folks in California grumble, stay home, and talk of the next sunny day.

It rained through the night, and Fitzwilliam worried it would continue through their meeting time, but just after his alarm went off, he heard it lessen and stop, and though he threw on a thermal shirt with his clothes; he still tied on his outside jogging shoes.

Because of the cloud cover, it was darker than normal, but he could still pick her out. His pace was slower because of the slick pavement so she was ahead of him, but he called out to Liz, and she stopped. She had on a rain jacket and her hood was up, but she pulled it back as she turned to look at him. Again there was something inside him; he felt a little leap in his stomach at the sight of her face when her gaze met his.

"Good morning," she said. "I thought the rain might have kept you inside, in your workout room," she said it with a touch of amusement.

"You were right," he said. "The rain does stop, just now, to allow us to get outside."

"It will surely start again. It is supposed to rain all day."

He took his usual place beside her, with Gidget and Barkington between them and those two Jack Russell terriers straining on their leads.

"Will you tell me about your mother?" she asked. He had a number of different scenarios in his head, ways to introduce the subject of dinner on Friday, but they were all washed away by that question.

"My mother," he said and stumbled over his tongue. "She was tall and graceful. Caring. She liked to draw but it wasn't the way most people drew, the way most people consider artists. She had no formal training," he explained as they walked together and as she listened. "She was entirely self-taught. She once explained to me that she just liked the way she did things though she knew she could probably benefit from formal education. But she liked to doodle. She wasn't one for color; she often created pictures with just the fewest lines possible to express whatever it was she was drawing."

His thoughts hearkened back to his mother. "She doodled on pieces of paper all the time. She doodled on top of notes; she doodled on any note that came home from a teacher which had to go back to school. I can recall being embarrassed a number of times about that. But when I was in college and most of my friends' parents would email, I looked forward to receiving letters in the mail because I knew that there would be a picture inside from her."

He finished his little monologue, and they walked in silence for a minute or two. He wondered that she had no quip or response. He looked at her; she had her lower lip clenched between her teeth.

"You said 'was,'" she finally called over to him with a faint voice.

"Yes," he said.

"You used the past tense, Fitz." She said.

"She passed away when I was in college," he explained.

"I am sorry," she said, her voice dropping. "I am so sorry," her voice was even softer. She sounded as though she was sorry that she had asked a question that might have brought pain to him.

"Her name was Amy," he said. "She always hated how…" then he stopped because he realized he was going to reveal his family name. "Never mind," he shook his head.

"I suppose it is fair for you to have questions that you don't want to answer," she said. And again they lapsed into silence. "Your mother sounds lovely," she said at last. "I think mine is just insane," she offered. "You said you were happy that there were aspects of your sister that were like your mother, but I worry sometimes if there is anything in me that is like my mother. My mother's family is Mexican and English. She can be very Latina sometimes. There is something hot-tempered about her, and I saw the same thing in my grandmother. I heard similar tales of my great-grandmother who came here in the 30s. I wonder, sometimes…" her voice petered off. "I rather like my dad," he could hear her voice brighten when she mentioned her father. "My grandmother came here from Italy though you wouldn't think so to look at Nonna," she smiled.

Fitzwilliam looked over at her and he could see quite the grin on her face, "why not?"

"You have to see us for me to explain that. You should see a picture of my grandmother or my sister for that to make sense. Besides," she pointed down the road. "I go this way and you go that way."

He had not managed to ask her out, and he was not sure he wanted to blurt out his question there. He felt drips, the rain starting up again, but he did not want to lose the opportunity.

"What time do you usually leave town on Fridays?" he asked.

She answered. "I usually wait for the commute traffic to die down, so not until after seven."

"Do you want to get sushi with me tomorrow before you go?" he asked.

"I'll think about it and tell you tomorrow," she answered. He could not tell from her tone of voice which way she was thinking.

"Okay," he said. "I didn't even bring my phone today, so I couldn't have got your number anyways."

"Are we to the point where we are exchanging phone numbers?" she clicked her tongue. "I don't know Fitz."

"You can say no," he replied, and turned to walk away rather than standing to watch her go for once.


	6. Lover Man

Chapter Six

"Lover Man (Oh, Where Can You Be?)"  
 _I long to try something I never had  
_ _Never had no kissin'  
_ _Oh, what I've been missin'  
_ _Lover man, oh where can you be_?

Fitz actually moved through his morning quickly; he enjoyed a hot breakfast and made it into the office at his usual time. He was there before Alejandra and was going through emails (and avoiding the multitude of voicemails that waited for him) when Bob came into his office.

"Where were you this morning? There was an emergency call with the battery team and you never joined. I sent out an email; I tried texting you. I even tried calling you to patch you in and couldn't get a hold of you!"

His cousin, Robert Mason Richardson, was his cohort in this company, Pemberley Energy. Their parents, brother and sister, had started the company over twenty years before. Bob had inherited his portion when his mother, Ellen, had retired. Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy had inherited his when his father had died.

Bob was older than Fitz, and was the only son of Aunt Ellen. He had a tall, lanky frame though he was not nearly as tall as his cousin Fitzwilliam. Your first glance at him and you would think _ugly_. Robert was not good-looking; he was not handsome or attractive in any physical way. But then Bob started talking. Bob had been born with more than his fair share of charisma. He probably stole the entire hospital nursery's worth of charisma from all the other babies the day he was born. Though women often looked away and would size him up on his looks (just as men sized women up on their looks) the minute he spoke, he charmed them out to dinner and into his bed. It was a skill that also came in handy at work, in negotiating business deals. He would have been a good lawyer.

Bob was the chief financial officer at Pemberley. He was in charge of money, though it seemed an odd fit for him and confounded anyone who met him in any social situation given his flair for expensive clothes, his delight in entertainment, partying, attending plays and operas, and in wooing women. He did not seem like CFO material.

Fitzwilliam knew, though few people did, that Bob was a closet musician and had an affinity for jazz. He had dutifully studied everything he needed in college to take over the job from his mother and step into the role she had paved for him. But his defiance had been to have a dual major in music. He was equally talented on the piano and at the violin. And as any teenaged boy did: he played the guitar.

Most parents dream of children who are virtuoso at such instruments, but Ellen Richardson had never desired her son to be so inclined. He did not need those skills or talents to get into college, to get a good education, to then get a good job. Bob had a job lined up for him no matter how well he did in college. Bob had tortured his mother by insisting on both piano and violin lessons through his school years and continued with them into college. He picked up the saxophone in college and still played in a small band of his own creation.

"Where were you at 6:05 this morning," demanded Bob.

"I was out running," growled Fitzwilliam looking at him. "I started running properly instead of just running on the treadmill at home," he explained.

"Running…outside," said Bob with disdain. "Since when have you become a health nut?"

"That is like the pot calling the kettle black!" said Fitz because he knew that Bob spent time at a gym most days.

"Oh come on," said Bob. "I go to the gym because of women. But at least I am not sniffing the seats after they've worked out like that guy last fall who was banned. Running…outside? It was raining this morning!"

"The rain stops about dawn and doesn't start again until about 7:00, it is the perfect time to run," explained Fitz as he picked up his phone and scrolled through the multitude of voicemails and saw that most of them were, indeed, from his cousin. There were texts too.

"What has gotten into you? You've been a little distracted the last week or two," said Bob.

"There's been a lot going on," said his cousin.

"Come on," prompted Bob.

"Charles starting…I am pleased to have him here. How is he working out?" asked Fitzwilliam.

"It has been three days. Ask me in another week," said Bob as he looked at his cousin whom he knew very well. "Come on."

"I've met somebody," said Fitz finally.

"You've met somebody," said Bob, who pulled up a chair and sat down. "You don't have time. When have you had time to _meet somebody_?"

"I don't have time, oh cousin of mine, to tell you," Fitz could hear Alex putting things on her desk outside his door. "Rabbit ears is here."

"Tsk. I will be checking back with you about this very important topic," warned Bob.

"Goodbye Bob, and send me a report about the battery meeting this morning, won't you?" asked Fitz.

Robert Richardson sighed, "I hate my job," as he walked out the door.

Fitzwilliam Darcy got caught up in work that day looking at long-term prospectuses. He was happy that they were considering making changes because Charles was now on board, but he felt one of their weaknesses, and an area he thought they could do well in, was improving battery design. There was that conference coming up in Vegas, and he thought he really ought to go to see what the competition was doing as well as consider other potential areas for Pemberley Energy.

He was still in his office about 7:30 that evening when both Bob and Charles came crowding in.

"Weee thought we would get out and have a working dinner," said Bob. "I am the CFO; I can approve such expenses. Company policy is such that this type of expense is approvable if there are three people attending, so we need your dead weight, dear cousin." He grinned broadly.

Fitz looked up. "I need to stay a little bit longer. I was going to work on this report and see if I can finish it."

"Oh, come on! You are no fun," cried Bob.

Charles, being new to the company, and perhaps not knowing Bob as well, did not join in the banter, but he grinned. "Can't you work on it tomorrow night?" asked Charles.

"I may have a date tomorrow night," said Fitzwilliam.

"Wait a minute, this is news," said his friend. "You were just…on Monday," he stuttered. "How do you work so fast?"

Bob said "You've _got_ to come now! You must _tell all._ We were not talking earlier because of ol' rabbit ears, but now you need to come!"

Fitzwilliam Darcy protested against going and refused to be moved, saying, "my going out tomorrow is hinged on my working late and finishing this report tonight, so you two gossips will have to wait."

"Well, can we call you Saturday morning and get an update then?" asked Bob.

"I may turn my phone off this weekend," were Fitz' parting words as the two men left his office.

* * *

Gidget let out a sharp bark at seeing him. He could tell and hear the excitement in the little dog's voice as he petted her; he wondered if Liz was equally as excited to see him.

"Have you considered if you want to get sushi before you head out of town tonight?" he asked, determined to get the question over with.

"If I said no, would you stop walking with me today?" she replied.

"Absolutely not," he said.

"How was your day, yesterday?" she asked. He got the sense that she was teasing him and delaying the answer.

"It was quite long. I stayed at work until past ten, working late on a report so I could leave early today and eat Japanese food with a taunting young woman."

"I happen to like Japanese food," she said. "And I have to eat before I go get Mary," she answered. "So yes, I will meet you for sushi."

"You are not going to give me your phone number though are you?" he said.

"No," she replied. "But I will meet you, for dinner."

"You said you wanted to leave at 7:00." He paused and then smiled. "Can we meet at 3:00?"

"Who is teasing now?" she smiled, there was even a little laughter at the end of the smile. "I don't think, Mr. Business Man, that you can leave work that early, can you?"

"I am the boss; I can leave when I want," he countered.

"Shouldn't you try to set a good example?" she argued.

"You are probably correct. Which is why I did not go out to dinner with some colleagues, and I stayed to work on a report last night, so that I might leave by 5:00 today, to have dinner. 5:30?" he asked.

"5:30," she agreed. He named the restaurant. She mentioned she knew the area very well, but had never eaten there. Fitz argued he could easily pick her up, but Liz insisted that they meet and then it was time to part ways until the evening.

* * *

His email box was unusually full when he got to work and it was a one-thing-after-another sort of morning which took him until about noon when his cousin came into Fitzwilliam's office.

"How does working late garner you a date?" asked Bob Richardson as he leaned against the doorframe.

Fitz leaned back in his chair which squeaked a little and shook his head. He had no desire to discuss Liz or his mornings with Bob, especially as he heard the squeak of Alejandra's chair as she repositioned it to listen to their conversation. "I want to leave early to enjoy my weekend," answered Fitz as he crossed his arms over his chest. "If I finish my work; I am free to go." He brought part of his mouth up to give Bob a half-smile.

"Well, you can't leave quite yet. We've that luncheon with those two angel investors. Said we would give them an overview of alternative energy in exchange for lunch," Bob mimicked his cousin's crossed-arm pose. "You, apparently, are going to have your fill of meals today."

"I had forgotten," said Fitz. "I hope they have salads on the menu wherever they are taking us, since I'm to have sushi for dinner. Two meals out today!"

"Sushi, on a first date," Bob's hands dropped. "Bad idea."

"Why?" asked his cousin as he stood and slipped his cell phone into his pocket.

"Fish breath," explained Bob. "Leaves a bad impression for the kissing good night." He was turning and glanced at Alex who was blatantly listening to their conversation. "Wouldn't you agree, Alex? Fish breath on a man gives you the willies?"

Alex Carlyle looked from Bob Richardson to her boss, Mason Darcy, widened her eyes a minuscule amount, but then smiled, "I am rather fond of sushi. I love watching them make special order pieces after I have made my selection, knowing they are custom-made, just for me."

Bob slapped his cousin on the shoulder as they walked off to lunch, "perhaps you will do okay tonight, Mason. You won't have to worry too much about offending this mysterious woman with your horrid breath. How is it you've managed to meet anyone when even your best friend hasn't a clue? I pumped Charles for information last night, and he was just as surprised as I was."

Alex watched and listened and had to agree with Pemberley Energy's CFO. Hearing her boss had a date was news to her. He had not mentioned anything to Alex, nor had he shown any symptoms of any interest. His work habits did not appear to have changed in the slightest though he had been late to work that one day. She wondered who this woman was, how did he meet her, and what was so special that he was leaving work early to have dinner with her?

She waited for them to reach the elevator before she called up Mason's email on her computer (which she had access to) and scrolled through it looking for anything which appeared interesting and related to this mystery woman. After five minutes, she was not willing to give up and began to do searches for keywords, 'sushi' and 'date' and 'love' but none of those garnered her anything interesting. If he was emailing this mysterious woman, he must be using a separate email account, but Alex did not believe he had a separate email account besides his Pemberley one.

It was a dilemma. How did one arrange a date without email or text? She would need to secure his phone and see if she could find this woman in his contacts. Did he only call her from home? Alex considered driving to his house because she could easily check his call records from his home phone or ask Yvonne, but she gritted her teeth together and decided she had to stop short of snooping around his house. He said he was leaving early for this date, but he might go home first and being caught at his house was going too far, even for her.

* * *

Around four, he could not concentrate on work any longer. It did not help that his PA had a multitude of questions to ask him which all seemed ones she could normally answer without his help, so his ability to concentrate on a report was compromised. Fitz gave up, shut down his laptop, found his jacket and car keys, but realized he had misplaced his cell phone.

"Alex!" he called as he moved a few folders around on his desk looking for it. She was there in the doorway within seconds. "Have you seen my cell phone?"

"It was on your desk when I asked you about the Vegas convention and who else was to attend—and I brought you coffee," she said. She clicked over to where he stood packing up his items. "It's here you silly man," and she lifted those same folders and handed it to him. He could have sworn he just looked under them, but gave over thinking about his lost phone, thanked her, shoved the cell phone in his pocket, and waved her out the door.

"Enjoy your weekend," he said as he locked his office door.

"Thank you, Mason," she said as she sat down and spun in her chair to look up at him with an interesting look on her face. "Enjoy your evening."

Fitz was thankful that Yvonne was not in the house when he got home. He showered, ran a hand on his chin and decided not to shave as he feared he would only nick himself in his nervousness and did not want to risk it. Then he stood in his closet and stared at his clothes as though there was nothing available to him, as though there was nothing actually hanging or lying folded there in that rather large walk-in closet in that master suite. In fact, there were two closets, but he only used the smaller one.

Sometimes his house was too large, and he wondered that he owned such a mansion, but it had suited him and Georgie when they needed each other after they lost their parents. It had been necessary that he sell their parents' house; there had been too many painful memories there.

And this house had a pool and a game room and a built-in movie theater which made his sister quite popular with her middle school, and then her high school friends. Not that such distractions could prevent tears, or sleepless nights when the utter pain of missing their mother or father overwhelmed her, and Fitzwilliam had to sit and hold Georgia while she cried, or when she was angry that they were left behind, and she felt small and alone.

A bark made him turn as he stood there contemplating his options, and he looked at Georgie's dog, Cherie. She often spent her days with Yvonne and Derek.

"What are you looking at?" he called as he fiddled with the towel that was wrapped around his waist. She came to sniff at some invisible spot in his closet and had no advice to give him about clothing. He finally settled on what he hoped was a casual pair of trousers and a shirt, though what sort of jacket to wear eluded him. Liz had never seen him in anything other than sports shoes, but he was so used to leather shoes with trousers that he felt he could not wear running shoes.

Cherie barked, almost as though to remind him he had forgotten something, but he called down to her, "I have deodorant on; I promise." She sat down again with her tongue hanging out, looking happy. Normally she avoided him; Fitz had been concerned what he was to do with her with Georgie gone off to college. This visit was an unusual occurrence. He always had considered her demon spawn, but he took care of her since she was Georgie's dog. Fitzwilliam bent down, and Cherie came up to him. He fiddled with her ears and rubbed her head which they both seemed to tolerate, and maybe even enjoyed.

When he stood up he noticed he had dog hair on his dark pants, but of all the women he knew, he figured _this one_ would not think less of him for sporting that sort of motif. He did brush off the worst of it before he walked out of the closet and went to the mirror in the bathroom one last time. Mirror Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy looked back at him in his blue shirt, gave him a half smile, and wished him luck.

Parking is always an issue. No matter what city on the peninsula, from San Francisco down to San Jose, parking is always an issue, despite designated city garages, or designated lots attached to a business, or laws against parking overnight on the street. Fitz left early to ensure he could find parking and lucked out the first place he looked. He had to decide what to do and opted to walk around the downtown area and looked in shop windows before heading back to the Japanese restaurant with five minutes yet to their appointed time. Liz was waiting for him.

"I lucked out and found parking," she said. Her eyes traced him up and down. "Did I under-dress?" He had opted for a sports jacket, as an executive, a business owner, he did not really own casual clothes, and not a single hoodie. She had on jeans and boots, and a shirt of some kind peaked out from underneath a pull-on sweater. "There isn't a dress code and they'll refuse to seat me, is there?" she asked as if he had taken too much time in assessing her outfit.

"No, casual dining," he replied, "ready?"

It was early yet for a Friday, and there was only an older couple seated, probably married, looking at their cell phones and not at each other. Other customers would not trickle in for another half hour at least. The waitress let them have their pick of tables. He wanted to direct her to a booth in a corner, but Liz said she wanted a table, hard wooden chairs and all, by the window.

"To people-watch," she explained. Fitzwilliam felt a crimp of disappointment as he wanted to talk with her and not stare out at strangers walking by.

He knew the menu by heart but took the folded item anyway and affected to look at it though he watched her as she dutifully read through the list of items. When she looked up and caught him watching her, she called out, "it's very long."

"It is," he said. "Know what you want?"

"I often order my favorites," she replied.

"Did you want wine or something to drink?" he asked as the waitress approached.

"Um, I have to drive, remember?" she raised her eyebrows.

"Right!" and he threw his eyes down at the menu in embarrassment. He ordered two glasses of _eau minerale_ and sent the waitress away as it appeared Liz was not ready to decide yet.

"What other types of food do you like?" he asked to cover his embarrassment.

"Most anything, Italian, Mexican, Chinese, Polish. There is a lot of diversity to be had in this area," she answered and folded her menu.

"Polish?" he prompted.

"Yes, there was a Polish butcher and deli back home. I love getting a sausage sandwich whenever I am helping out dad in the shop. If I have the time…when I am not studying. Dad has a shop behind the house," she looked over to where the restaurant staff were talking. He thought she might be equally as embarrassed and at a loss for words as he was, except she talked when she was nervous, and he clammed up. "Did you always live in Atherton? Have you always been in California?" she asked looking back at him.

"Yes to both questions," he answered. "Mostly," he then qualified.

"Meaning?" she tilted her head.

"I only ever remember our house in Atherton, but we did live in San Mateo when I was very small," he answered.

"So you have never moved? You have lived in the same house your whole life?" she asked, leaning back a little in her chair.

"No," he hesitated, wondering about sharing his story with her. "I bought a house of my own," he began, but the waitress finally appeared and prevented him from having to explain more about his father's death.

"Orders?" asked the waitress.

"Go ahead," said Liz with a wave of her hand.

"Two Negitoro, two Cherry Blossom," he said. He looked at Liz, staring at her eyes, how beautiful and shapely they were, and they twinkled back at him. He thought about Bob teasing him about fish breath earlier that day, so he looked at the vegetarian options on the menu. "Two Kappa and one Shitake," he folded the menu and handed it to the waitress.

"Wow," said Liz, "did you skip lunch?"

"No," he answered.

"Order?" prompted the waitress.

"One California roll and udon," said Liz.

"Type?" asked the waitress.

"Pork," answered Liz.

"Is that all you are getting?" asked Fitz.

"It is all I can afford on a college student's salary," she answered handing the waitress her menu. The waitress briskly walked away to place their orders.

"Liz, I will pick up the tab for the meal, you can order anything you want," he cried. Her hand had been lying on the table after she had passed over the menu and while she did not drill her fingers on the table; her fingers did beat a quick run through, one through five, as she looked down at them.

"You said to meet you for sushi," she told her fingers. "Your paying implies more than two friends meeting up to share a meal," her eyes looked up at him. "Sort of a…more like a date."

He nodded before he even answered, "yes, sort of like a date."

"I am still not sure about you," she said.

"Dating is what people do to discover more about each other," he explained without losing eye contact. "It doesn't have to be serious or romantic or scary. It can be fun, like you have with friends."

"Fun…with friends," she repeated.

"Yes. What do you like to do for fun?" he asked.

"I don't. I am a college student. An English major. I read thousands of pages a week for _fun_. All I do is go to class, study, read, and write. If I remember to, I eat."

"I am a business man, all I do is read hundreds of pages of bone-dry reports a week, sit through hours of meetings (often without breaks), and write my own reports. I too eat, though I often just order food. Why can't we find time to eat together, like tonight?" Liz smiled at the parallels he drew between their days. Fitz was amazed that he was able to point out the similarities in their lives. He was not often one to think so quickly on his feet.

"I think maybe I have it easier," she said. "Bone-dry reports? At least my reading is more enthralling," she added, the sparkle returning to her eyes.

"What is your favorite class right now?" he asked.

"I have one about the urban experience and how it expresses itself in literature and with a strong sense of place for the three big American cities: New York, LA and Chicago. I often love how a city can almost become a character in a story and becomes just as important as the protagonist." The sparkle in her eyes ignited as she began to describe her class which showed what a good fit her major was for her, and Fitzwilliam sat back and listened as she described the reading list, her favorite novel being The Big Sleep. (1)

They found a relaxed middle ground of conversation as the restaurant began to fill up with other customers. Not once did the conversation falter, nor did she stop talking to him to look out the window and people-watch as he feared she would.

There was music to share. He had been weaned on rock, as his parents had been products of the 1970s with its wide array of music. His grandparents were from the 50s, though, so he appreciated music from that era as well. His paternal grandfather had sat him down to watch every Elvis movie there was available and had also shared his records.

The air stilled and the friendly atmosphere evaporated between them when the waitress brought the tray with the bill on it and placed it next to Fitzwilliam. He did not immediately reach for it but smiled weakly at her.

"Let me treat you, as a friend," he asserted.

"Only if I can pick up the next tab," she answered, and smiled in the same small way. "Though you have to promise to be a cheap date."

"I promise to be a cheap date," he said, with an amused tone to his voice as he brought his hand up to his heart. He then reached to pull the tray over in front of him, pulled out his wallet, and then a credit card. The waitress swooped over as she had been waiting. They had not noticed that there was now a line of people at the front waiting for tables.

They left the restaurant together. He asked where she was parked, and she indicated the way. He said that was his direction as well so they walked together.

"It is odd," she remarked, "walking with you by my side, yet not having anything in my hands." They both looked down. She held her hands up to show that they were empty.

"Maybe I can take care of that," he said. He held his hand out and took her left hand in his right. She smiled at him, and they walked along the sidewalk in silence, negotiating around other people who crowded the street as well. The city parking lot was ugly, but few of them are remarkable to look at. "Where are you parked?" he asked.

"Over there," she pointed to a row, two rows over. "I thought I might be able to park in that spot, where the motorcycle is, but the idiot Beamer owner parked over the line." She indicated a BMW whose wheels sat on top of the line which delineated the parking spaces.

"That would be me," he said with a smile, "but only because that idiot Hummer on my left took up more than his fair share." Liz dropped his hand to walk over and examine his claim, but apparently confirmed to her satisfaction that he was not the first to park over the line. The Hummer sat well into Fitz' parking spot. She came back to stand next to him.

"At least the motorcycle found a place," she offered. "You drive a gray BMW," it was her accusatory tone.

"One of my few indulgences," he admitted. "Technically it is not gray, it is 'Atlas Cedar' and considered green," he explained.

"I am not buying that; looks gray to me," she quipped.

"The sun has set, so you can't tell it really is sort of green. Where are you parked?" She pointed at the rather used-looking sedan parked across from his, nose-to-nose in the parking lot. "Is your car safe?" he asked, worried.

"Probably not, but it makes for interesting driving. I told you I was a college student. Did you expect me to drive a top-of-the-line new car?" He thought he could definitely distinguish amusement now. "I had best get on my way, is it 7:00 yet?"

"Probably," he did not want to take out his phone to look at the time. They stood next to the trunk of his car, the motorcycle beside it. He took up her hand in his again. "Drive safely," he brought her hand up to kiss the back of it. Her eyes watched his movements, and he brought their hands back down.

"Thanks," she said catching his eyes. "Thank you for everything." Her feet shuffled.

"Just kiss her already," said a voice. A man swung his leg over the motorcycle, unlocked it, kicked the stand up, and began backing it out of the stall. He put his helmet on when the motorcycle was straightened out, and kicked it to life. "Kiss her," he said looking at Fitzwilliam, slammed the visor down, and then took off with a roar down the row.

Fitz did as he was told and kissed Liz, running his fingers through her hair with his unoccupied hand; holding her face and cheek gently while they kissed. Fitzwilliam pulled back. "Cheeky bastard," he said.

"Yes," she answered, her eyes all alight.

"Thanks for letting me pay for dinner," he said.

"You're welcome," she replied, swinging their still-combined hands.

"Do you still like me?" he asked.

"I still like you, Fitz." She pulled her hand free. "I will see you on Monday."

"Bye," he called after her and watched her get into her car, start it and pull away. Someone honked at him as he stood blocking the motorcycle man's space, so he got into his own car and went home.

* * *

(1) All of Liz' courses are actual ones offered at Stanford this past school year.


	7. Feeling Good

Chapter Seven

"Feeling Good"

 _Birds flyin' high, you know how I feel  
_ _Sun in the sky, you know how I feel  
_ _Breeze driftin' on by, you know how I feel  
_ _It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me._

Liz managed to find her way to the freeway, made a determination as to which bridge to take, and crossed to the east side of the bay to get Mary. Traffic was still heavy going up to Oakland, but she had been attempting it most Fridays, this trip to fetch Mary, so Liz could do it on autopilot which allowed her to think about dinner and a kiss goodnight. Their motorcycle rider companion _had_ been cheeky. But she had not noticed him until he had shouted out 'just kiss her already.' Liz wondered how long he had stood and watched them. Had they looked awkward? They probably had. She did not know if the man was young or old or what he looked like because she had not turned her gaze away from Fitz.

She thought about the fact that Fitz made her feel excited. She felt like a little kid given her basket and told to go hunt for Easter eggs, knowing there was fun both in the hunting and in opening the eggs, once found, and seeing the prizes that were inside.

She _had_ dated in college. Charlotte knew all about Kevin Merriton. (Everybody in town knew about Liz Bennet and Kevin Merriton.) But Charlotte had pushed her to keep trying, pushed her to date while assuring Liz that it—that proverbial _it_ —would happen, though nobody thrilled her like this man. Before meeting Fitz, Liz had wanted to do nothing but focus on her studies, go home for the weekend, and maybe feel a little sorry for herself about the whole Kevin thing.

Liz admitted she was scared because she did not want to get hurt. Kevin had told her how much he loved her; how much he adored her. He had flattered her from the moment they had been introduced. The day Mr. Merriton had come by to discuss business arrangements with Mr. Bennet, and he had brought along his son, had been better than Christmas morning to eighteen year old Liz. She had worked hard for a long time and this handsome man seemed to fulfill an unmet need in her.

Kevin told her how beautiful she was. He had been everything that was flattering and complimentary and was _so confident_. But it had been a confidence trick. He had a confidence in himself that he was handsome. A confidence that he was going places. He had a background of money and privilege and it was going to grease the pathways in life for him. Kevin had confidence that the world was his oyster. That spring, for him, it had been Liz Bennet until the Merritons decided the Bennets would not do and Kevin had moved on.

Liz was older and wiser, and she walked around with burned fingers to show for it. There were times she had worried they would be permanently scarred. This was why she was being so cautious with her new walking buddy, who was rather optimistic in his charming way. She wondered if he would have left it at a kiss on the hand had there not been that challenge from the motorcycle guy, or would they have stood there talking awkwardly, dancing around the idea of a real goodbye kiss as they shuffled their feet.

She wondered what they would do now in the mornings. Would they greet each other in a different manner? Would they part in a different manner? They had so little time in the mornings. They still did not know each other's last name. She did not know where he worked. He did not know where she went to school. Would they have another date? It was her turn to pay if they did. She had no free time for dating, not really. But she thought how much she would like to see him again, and for longer than their ten minutes each morning.

The quarter was coming to a close. Some of her friends went to schools with semesters. Just a long semester in the fall and a long semester in the spring. But Stanford had quarters. Ten weeks: short, sweet and in a blink of an eye they were over with your brains scrambled at the end. It felt as though March and the next week of finals was almost upon them. She would definitely not have time for a date _then_. Liz thought about the next Friday (her last free Friday), before she went to get Mary, and would he be able to leave work early again so they could have dinner together?

* * *

It seemed that she made it to Oakland rather quickly. Liz wondered if she had left later than usual because of the date. Was Mary waiting for her and would her sister be upset with her tardiness? She pulled in front of her sister's hall and texted. Mary came out with her backpack and a bag, one she called her 'swag bag,' and jumped in the car.

Whereas Liz had dark hair, cut shoulder-length to be practical, Mary had a short clip with long bangs, one half dyed black, the other a pale white along a severe uneven part. She had sported that hairstyle and color for a number of years. No one could tell Mary's true hair color. Whether she was dark like Liz or was a blond like Jane.

"I got lost playing," said Mary. "There is a rather out of tune piano in the common area. And I don't wish to ever lose my abilities."

"It is good that you keep it up," said Liz as she started the car. "Did you check the freeway to see if we need to go up and over?"

Mary admitted she had not, pulled out her cell and said their usual way home was clear.

"Why don't you major in music?" asked Liz. "Or at least double major in music?"

"Because women's studies winds up mom so much," answered Mary as she settled her bags around her feet so she could stretch out her legs.

"Are you sure you should major in something just because it winds up mom? Perhaps you will change your mind after you get another year under your belt."

"Perhaps I will," said Mary. "But I rather like women's studies," she snickered.

"I know you do," said her big sister. "But you have always loved music; we all do, but _you_ came out singing."

"I thought I came out squabbling," said Mary.

"Well, you did that too. You've never _not_ had an opinion or were afraid to voice it. Poor Jane with us as sisters."

Mary was scrolling on her phone but still answered, "she's too even-keeled. She needs a little shaking up, otherwise she would be too perfect; how was your week?"

"Same," answered Liz who was not sure she wanted to share about Fitz and how interesting her mornings had become.

"How is Charlotte?" Mary asked her phone.

"I think I only saw her in passing two or three times this week. This quarter, we seem to be out on different evenings so I only see her when I fight for the right to brush my teeth."

Mary's phone chirped, and she silenced the ringer but hurriedly texted a reply to the message.

"Don't keep looking down the whole trip, you always were the puker in the family," said Liz as she glanced briefly at Mary's rapidly moving fingers.

"Bossy," said Mary as she kept texting. There was quite an exchange for about fifteen minutes, and Liz drove lost in her own thoughts which largely consisted of recalling someone running his fingers through her hair.

"I may need you to pull over," said her sister, intruding on those thoughts as Liz had just run a tongue over her lip and wondered why she had not given Fitz her phone number.

"And you wonder why Mom and Jane and I worried about you going away to school and being on your own because you can _never_ listen, and do it anyway," said Liz. They were passing through a populated area with a lot of businesses, so she pulled off the freeway at the next available exit and into a convenience store parking lot. "Want me to get you some water?"

"No," said Mary, who had tucked her phone into a shirt pocket and had her head lying back, rather dramatically, on the seat. "I'll be okay in a minute." Mary stared up at the car's interior ceiling. "I met a girl, Liz. I think I am in love. Or at least in lust," she said.

"Lust, huh," said Liz looking over at Mary. "That sounds like you. Can you ever imagine Jane claiming she is in lust?" Liz giggled.

Mary caught on and laughed along. "No, never. I can't really imagine her in love. Ms. Ariana Jane Bennet is going to be the next professor of fluid mechanics at the most prestigious university in the country. She hasn't time for love, or lust."

"Too true," said Liz. "Not with her being in graduate school; there is no time for anything other than studies and research. Are you better?"

"Yes, but I think I do want water." Mary hopped out of the car to run into the convenience store. Liz wondered if she should share a little, a hint about Fitz since Mary had, apparently, met someone and was more than willing to share with Liz. They pulled back onto the road.

"Her name is Bridget; she wants to be a nurse. She's like no one I've ever met," explained Mary.

"Sounds like no one you would find at home," said Liz.

"For the 21st century there do not seem to be a lot of lesbians in Merriton," commented Mary.

"They're there, just not as in your face as you think," placated Liz.

"So you've said, but I never saw a single gay pride flag," growled Mary.

"It's not that type of town, I fear, Mary. Which is why you are where you need to be."

Mary talked about her friend Bridget, though Liz thought it interesting that Mary did not yet call her a girlfriend. It made Liz warm up to the idea of sharing her news about Fitz, but she never had the chance with Mary's usual long-windedness, and they were home and having to park on the street as Jane's car was in Liz' usual spot in the long curved driveway.

"Where have you been?" cried Minerva Bennet as soon as they walked through the front door, "you're late!"

"I did not know that we had a set time we were due to arrive," countered Liz.

"Jane came home," explained their mother unnecessarily because their sister Jane sat at the kitchen table. Mrs. Bennet had stood, of course, the better to project her voice.

Jane was beautiful, blond haired, blue-eyed and quite different from her sisters in looks. She took those looks and beauty from their Italian grandmother—her name too, Ariana. Grandmother Nonna, Ariana Marino, had come from a little town in the northern reaches of Italy.

Their other grandmother, Maria, had been born to another half-immigrant family. Great-grandma Isabel came to work in Hollywood from Mexico in the 1930s. Her pretty face and shapely body got her work as an extra though racism at the time meant she would never go far. She retired when she met her husband, and they moved to Central California. Their daughter, Grandma Maria, met Grandpa Gardiner in Merriton like so many others had, like her parents and her Uncle Phil and Aunt Alice had done.

"How're you Jane?" said Mary who threw her things on the couch.

"Hi Jane," said Liz, and they both dutifully came to sit at the kitchen table knowing that they would be exempt from anything other than being grilled by their mother before they would be allowed to do anything else.

"How's school?" It seemed as though everyone asked the same question at the same moment and then there were three sets of eyes rolling up to the ceiling as they all had equal complaints of their lives that week.

"Did you eat?" asked Mrs. Bennet as she opened the refrigerator and looked at her second and third children.

"I did," said Liz.

"I did not," said Mary.

"Jane ate in the car," their mother shook a finger at her oldest daughter. Minnie was a proponent of home-cooked meals, hated any sort of fast food, and was quite particular about what sort of food she would even consider when she dined out. "What would you like?" she asked her youngest.

"Anything," said Mary. Liz could not help but roll her eyes, as she knew that Mary had set a high bar for herself about how often she could annoy their mother. Mrs. Bennet liked to be appreciated for her cooking, so a generic 'anything' was the last thing she wanted to hear.

"Well if it is just anything, I could open a can of dog food for you," shouted their mother.

"That would be great, thanks," said Mary who looked at Jane. "You were not due to come home. You're like, in the middle of stuff. Why are you home?"

"Yeah," said Liz who scooted her chair out and made herself more comfortable. "What induced you to drive six hours to come home besides Mom's cooking?"

"I…just wanted a break. Too much studying," and Jane looked over at their mother who had her back to them and appeared to be putting something in a dish. When Minerva Bennet's back was truly turned away at the microwave, Jane Bennet stared intently at them, and Liz quickly held up a hand to indicate 'we will talk later.'

"Mom do you got any cookies?" asked Liz by way of placating her mother since Mary was determined to wind up Mrs. Bennet. Liz often played the middle child role of arbitrator with her mother, particularly when it came to walking the line between her sisters' concentrations. Minerva did not understand Jane's focus on school to the exclusion of such concerns as providing Mrs. Bennet with grandchildren. She also _claimed_ to not understand Mary's sexuality.

"So," Mrs. Bennet put a dish and a fork and a spoon in front of Mary who dutifully started eating. "Any dates?"

"No," said Jane to whom the question was really aimed. "I simply don't have time."

"I do," said Mary.

"I don't want to hear it," said Mrs. Bennet through gritted teeth. "Why don't you understand how much I have a desire for grandchildren?"

"Mom, I am young," said Jane, but she took a cookie.

"Besides which," said Liz, who took two and munched on the first. "I thought we agreed that _I_ was going to have them?"

"What!" said Mrs. Bennet. "I've never heard of this."

"Well, we got together once, didn't we," continued Liz, and Mary nodded in between spoonfuls, but Jane sort of looked like she did not want to be part of the conversation because things that they joked about in private were often things Mrs. Bennet took literally.

"You're going to have the grandchildren? You are going to have kids, Elisa Vittoria Bennet?" exclaimed Minerva.

"Well," explained Liz as she finished her first cookie and laid her head in her hands. "Jane's got this brilliant career ahead of her, you know, mechanical engineering, fluid dynamics, graduate school…and all, right?"

"Yes," said her mother.

"And Mary, well Mary likes girls and she doesn't like boys…and you sort of need a boy and a girl in order to have a baby. You explained that to us a while ago."

Mrs. Bennet had been well used to her daughters and did not even blush at that. "Yes, I know."

"So there is just me and my stupid English degree. You are always asking me what I am going to do with it. So I will graduate and I will find some nice guy, and we'll make babies," and she munched on her second cookie. "Don't you think that's a grand idea?"

"You? I never imagined _you_. Does this mean you have finally gotten over… _your_ _disappointment_?"

"Perhaps I have," which was about as much as Liz was willing to tell her mother about Fitz and her dog walking. She saw the way that Jane turned her head and looked at her, and she thought that the rattle of Mary's fork on the table said a lot. Mary had also figured out that there was _something going on_.

* * *

Later, Jane came to knock on her door. Liz had crawled in bed though she had turned on the TV that her father had installed in the room. Tomaso Bennet had joked that it had become his man cave and that he was not going to be one of those parents who preserved his children's rooms. As soon as his children left the house, they were truly to be on their own.

But Minerva had told them that he had cried all day the day that Liz had left for school. He had cried all day the day that Jane had left for graduate school (Jane had lived at home during her undergrad years), and he had cried all day the day that Mary had gone. He had just as much trouble with his children fledging as Mrs. Bennet had. Tom occasionally used Liz' bedroom when he and his wife had a dispute because the bed was better than sleeping on the couch. Or if he wished to stay up late and watch TV.

"I am so tired," said Jane, "bunch over," and she crawled next to Liz in the bed. "Six hours, ugh, by yourself is a long drive. I don't know what I would do without music."

"I don't know what any of us would do without music. Most of all, I wonder what Mary would do without music," said Liz. "I can't believe Mary went out."

"The alternate is staying here, with Mom," said Jane.

"I suppose you're right. Mary comes home every weekend; she does not get to claim the excuse that she is too busy, like I can, because she's a freshman. Plus she's closer to home. When I have too much on my plate, I can at least claim to be another hour away. Mom sends Dad to come get her when I say I can't pick her up," commented Liz. "So…why'd you really come home?"

"It's my TA," said Jane. "I don't know how to discourage him. I fear that I am in a male-dominated field, and there are just some men who don't know how to behave themselves. I don't know what to do."

"Have you tried talking to your professor?" asked Liz.

"That would be perceived as whining."

"It's wrong if you feel put upon. Your TA meaning, he like corrects papers, and you have to work with him, and he's like in a position of authority over you."

"Yeah, I guess when you put it that way," said Jane. "I just love what I do, Liz. And sometimes I hit these little road bumps and I think maybe I should just…"

"Don't you dare think you should just be a mom," Liz inexplicably started laughing. "There is nothing harder to be in this world. It is probably what drove mom crazy in the first place. She was probably a halfway decent person before the three of us showed up." They laughed together.

"I suppose you're right," said Jane. "Maybe I need to do some independent study, or I should find an internship. It doesn't have to be paid one—though that would be a bonus—just an _internship,_ you know. If I am studying fluid dynamics I should try to see how to put it into practice, look at turbine design. You know, that is sort of what got me into this. All those years we would drive the freeways, back and forth, and there are all those windmills up there. I always thought watching them spin in tandem, how beautiful they were moving in concert together, and it was like birds in flight or fish swimming in a school."

"Well, I think it is a great what you are studying. It is a wonderful fit for you," encouraged Liz.

"So…Liz," said Jane, the big sister. "There is a little something different about you."

"Really," replied Liz, "besides the 'I got up at 5:45 and it's been a long day look'?"

"Yes," said Jane, "because I have that same look." She leaned over and whacked her shoulder against Liz'.

"That might be the slight afterglow because of the good-bye kiss from my date tonight," remarked Liz.

"What!" cried Jane.

"Un hunh," said Liz whose eyes still stared at the TV screen.

"When did this happen? And you haven't said a word. Does Mary know?" exclaimed Jane.

"Mary told me all about Bridget," said Liz. "Has she told you?"

"About Bridget? A little," answered Jane. "But you! You!" cried Jane.

Liz snuggled down a little more in bed. "It's all been kind of sweet and rather fast, and I met him walking dogs in the morning. He goes running, and I walk the dogs."

"So he's a dog walker?" asked Jane.

"No, he's a rich business man. Mom would be so thrilled if she knew," quipped Liz.

"What? Elisa Vittoria, I can't keep up."

"That's the thing Jane, neither can I. I just, well, I can only tell you it's been fun. He's kind of shy, but he keeps telling me how much he wants me to like him. And I only see him for ten minutes every morning when I walk the dogs. Then he asked me out to dinner; he left work early so we could have dinner before I went to get Mary. And we got sushi."

"But he kissed you?" insisted Jane.

"Only because this guy on a motorcycle dared him to!" snarked Liz.

"What?"

Liz had to explain the whole parking lot scene.

"Sounds kind of funny and sweet, like you said," remarked Jane. "What's his name?"

"I have been so burned, Jane," Liz's voice took on a bitter tone, "you know," she swallowed, "so we agreed to only first names. It's Fitz."

"Fitz?" said Jane and there was a slight dubious note to Jane's reply. " _Fitz?_ Okay now I am worried about you. You said you've only known him a week?"

"Actually, we met two weeks ago, and then he kept appearing in the mornings."

"So he's stalking you," said Jane whose voice became even more worried.

"Yeah, maybe he was. Maybe I need to be concerned about him. How is it we have a different take on the other's life?"

"I think we always need someone else's perspective. We can't go through life alone," answered Jane.

"You don't really think he is stalking me?" asked Liz.

"No," said Jane, "But you have to tell me all!"

"We have to keep our voices down, otherwise Mom will know something's up, but I'll tell you everything I know." She began with their meeting on President's Day and all of their subsequent little morning meetings and ended with her jumping in the car after their kiss, to go get Mary.

* * *

The weekend had a different flavor with Jane being there. Mrs. Bennet was far more focused on her oldest daughter. If Liz acted differently because of her budding relationship with Fitz, it was not obvious to Minerva Bennet. Liz was able to avoid discussing the topic, or anything else about her life, with her mother. She did catch her oldest sister gazing at her and grinning a number of times. Liz almost wanted to slap the grin right off of Jane's face—or at least stomp on her foot lest their mother find out. Jane supposedly had come home because she was unhappy about school so she should not be grinning from ear to ear whenever she looked at her middle sister.

Mary had gone out late with a friend who still lived at home to take in a jazz band that was playing over in Stockton. Liz wondered how they got into the club since Mary was not yet twenty-one and it probably served liquor. Mary probably had a fake ID; it was not something Liz would put past her younger sister.

Sunday dinner was early since Jane had to get on the road; a brunch sort of meal rather than the 5:00 affair that their mother usually insisted upon, which gave Liz and Mary an excuse to leave early despite Mrs. Bennet claiming that it was _not an excuse_.

Mary had snuck out again on Saturday night, though everyone knew where she was going—to another club to listen to yet another performer—so she was no company whatsoever on the drive back and slept the entire way until Liz pulled up in front of Mary's dormitory.

Mary turned to her then. "You really should tell all."

"You really should not sleep when your chauffeur is ready to talk," rejoined Liz.

"Touché," said Mary and yawned. "Jane was grinning about something and since she only comes home when she is unhappy, I figured she must be grinning about something _you_ shared."

"Well, you had your own stuff to talk about on the drive home, and then you've been busy, which is what all eighteen year olds need to be, selfishly busy, and not minding what their older sisters are up to."

"Maybe you could give me an overview," suggested Mary.

"I had a date on Friday before I picked you up, which is why I had dinner," said Liz.

"Oh!" said Mary. "An overview doesn't cut it, does it?"

"Nope," answered Liz.

"I will expect a full report next Friday," said Mary as she got out of the car.

"I may have further updates for you," said Liz. "Have a good week."

"Thanks, big sis," and she shut the door.

* * *

A/N: I am considering changing to a MWF update schedule since the work is written, but probably won't update the summary until September as I am likely to miss that first Monday.

Also I am simplifying the way engineering graduate programs work to have Jane have her single annoying TA.

Thanks to myship for editing.


	8. Them There Eyes

Chapter Eight

"Them There Eyes"

 _I fell in love with you the first time I looked into  
_ _Them There Eyes  
_ _And you have a certain lil cute way of flirtin'  
_ _With Them There Eyes_

 _They make me feel so happy  
_ _They make me feel so blue  
_ _I'm fallin', no stallin'  
_ _In a great big way for you_

The Watson's house was its usual craziness with the patter of little feet, as in children's feet, but Orion and Sirius knew to wait for her by the front door. Liz collected those two eager Jack Russell terriers, had her complement of dogs, and headed down to the end of the street wondering if Fitz would be waiting for her at the corner. He was.

Gidget and Barkington greeted him as they had started to do. There was a part of her that almost felt like barking and joining with them in greeting Fitz.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," he said back. There was a slight pause as though he didn't know as if he might attempt to get past the two dogs to kiss her, but Orion and Sirius were anxious to keep going and pulled her forward. Liz and her five dogs started moving, and Fitz fell into place beside her. "How was your trip home?" he asked.

"The usual," she answered, looking at him more than she was looking forward at the road. "Though not so usual."

"You tell me you are an English major?" he smiled. "Do you care to clarify?"

"My oldest sister came home unexpectedly. She wasn't due until spring break. She's on a different system than I, but be that as it may, it is good to see you," she said unexpectedly.

"It is good to see you," he said. "I walked my dogs this weekend," he offered with amusement in his voice.

"That's good, very good," she said. "And that you did it without anybody telling you too, right?"

"Yes." They seemed to run out of things to say; there was an awkward silence as they traced along what had become their usual pathway in the mornings.

* * *

Liz had thought a lot about Fitz since she had returned home from her parents' house. She had made it home early and Charlotte had pounced on her about the dinner, wanting any sordid details. Charlotte had been amazed to hear Liz' story about this budding romance with a businessman. Char had been very anxious for Liz to go out to dinner with Fitz.

"You say he's a rich business man?" had been her biggest point, "just think, maybe you won't need to worry about all this debt we are accumulating by going to Stanford."

"Charlotte!" Liz had cried. "How your mind has jumped to conclusions! I am merely considering that for the first time in over two years there is somebody who _I_ am attracted to, and who doesn't make me relive feeling ugly and unloved, and _you_ are thinking so far ahead that you have him paying off my student loans?"

"It doesn't hurt. You and I are both in the same boat, Liz. We are probably going to spend the first ten or fifteen years in the working world paying off our student loans. Unless we find some high-paying job, or we find some rich guy to marry, or we get our bankers to forgive our loans," she snorted, "we are not going to enjoy life, and we will always be as poor as our parents."

"I didn't think our parents were poor," asserted Liz.

"Both of our fathers have worked mighty hard to earn what they did," said Charlotte. "And my mom worked, you know, in retail."

" _My_ mother didn't work," said Liz.

"She had to deal with you guys," said Charlotte, "I think the five of us were less of a handful than the three of you."

"I blame Mary," laughed Liz.

"I blame _you_ ," said Char.

"Me?" Liz had stared hard at her friend then. "I tried so hard to be the good middle kid."

"Yeah? I think that's where you went wrong," replied her friend. "Your mom was always expecting you to rebel. You didn't do it overtly; you were very sneaky about it."

"I can't win either with _you_ or with _Mom_. I didn't rebel good enough…well enough," she corrected her grammar, English major that she was, "and apparently I should throw myself at Fitz' feet and beg him to marry me so he will pay off my student loans."

"Consider all your options," had been Charlotte's reply.

* * *

"How was _your_ weekend?" asked Liz, breaking the silence between her and Fitz.

"Rather commonplace," he answered. "I work too much."

"What do you do for fun?" she asked.

"I don't," he said. "All I've ever done is work."

"No hobbies, huh? Maybe you should take up some rich-guy hobby like boat racing?" she suggested.

"Boat racing, is that a thing?" he sounded skeptical.

"So I've heard. Orion and Sirius' owner has a couple of boats."

"He races them?"

"Well, _he_ doesn't. But he talks about others who do. He just likes to sail in them. Takes them out for long weekends, gets away from the kids."

"Boat racing, hmm. Do you like to sail?" he asked.

"I don't know, I've never been," answered Liz.

"What do you do with your free time?" he asked.

"College student!" she called, "no free time, besides which, my mother would demand that I would spend it with her."

"Ah, right," he said, though it was not as if she had actually spoken that much about her mother. They had reached their corner of parting. "I will see you tomorrow." He waded in then, among those dogs, to put a hand on her arm and to press a kiss on her cheek. "I am rather hot and sweaty," he apologized. "This is as close as I will get."

"I will see you tomorrow," she said.

"Goodbye Liz."

* * *

Bob was sitting on Alex's desk when Fitzwilliam got to work. He probably would have been sitting in Darcy's chair had his office not been locked. He did not believe Bob was one for early rising, but Fitz did not actually know what time his cousin, Mr. Robert Richardson, actually got into the office.

"I didn't think you really would turn your phone off this weekend," said his cousin.

"I gave up reading them after the first fifteen texts," said Fitzwilliam. "Forty-two texts! You really weren't going to leave me alone, were you?"

"Ah, nope! Given your wingman said you were moping about not having dated in years to suddenly having a mysterious date on Friday? I am so alive with curiosity it isn't funny. I couldn't think straight, and I could barely go about my weekend rituals."

"What do _you_ do on the weekends?" asked Fitz. He must have sounded so sincere with his question that it threw Bob as he looked at his cousin.

"I enjoy myself," said Bob, "why, what do you do?"

"I work," said Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy.

"Hmmm, no wonder you haven't had a date in years," replied his more lackadaisical cousin. Fitzwilliam unlocked his door, and Bob followed him in. "I worry about you," said Bob.

"I worry about me too," said Fitz. "She asked me this morning…" he began.

" _She_ asked you this morning? Wait a minute!" interrupted his cousin. "Did you two spend the night together already? Do the deed?"

"No. It's not gotten that far," insisted Fitzwilliam. "It's nothing like that."

"Mason, come clean. _Tell all_. My god! What have you been up to! This is not like you, not like you at all! Who is this mystery woman? What's her name?"

"Liz. Her name is Liz," said Fitz as he sat down, his chair squeaking.

Bob tasted the name on his tongue almost as if sampling wine. "Liz. What's her last name?"

"I don't know."

"You had a date with her and you don't even know her last name?" his hand thumped Fitzwilliam's desk.

"No."

"How did you know where to pick her up for the date and all of that?" asked Bob.

"I didn't. We met for dinner."

"Sounds a little weird to me," said Bob who was looking remarkably relaxed in one of the extra chairs in his cousin's office.

"She's a little skittish about relationships, so we agreed to use first names."

"So she doesn't know you're THE Mason Darcy?"

"Is there more than one? Wait a minute that sounded a little arrogant," said Fitz and shook his head. "I just don't know if there are, like, others with the same name or not? Is there another Mason Darcy out there? If I Google my name what will I find?"

"Oh don't worry, you're probably the one and only," placated Bob. "Do you know how many Bob Richardsons there are? I am probably on page seventeen of a search if you Google my name. If you used your real name, you would be THE one and only."

"Well, it's kind of funny that you mention that," Fitz smiled down at his desk, then over at his still-blank computer monitor.

"Why?"

"Because I told her my name, my real name," said Fitzwilliam.

"You told her your name was Fitzwilliam? That idiotic name your father thought up for you? Instead of a halfway decent first name so you wouldn't be teased or bullied in school?" exclaimed Bob.

"Sort of, I told her my name was Fitz."

Bob leaned back in his chair. "Fitz? It sounds like some World War II nickname. _Fitz_ and _Pacific_ and, I don't know, _Spanky,_ are all going off to fight so they stop at the whorehouse first. I don't know about you sometimes."

"Don't make this about sex," said Fitzwilliam who did catch Bob's eyes then.

"Okay. I'll try not to, but I always have sex on the brain," said Bob.

"Most of the time, unless it's music," countered his cousin.

"True. Point to you," said Bob. "But you are still dancing around the fact that you've met somebody. Where did you meet her if all you ever do is work? And support charity events and be a Silicon Valley _executive_. You've so bought into this whole thing. I kind of worry about you sometimes."

"She's a dog walker," answered Fitz.

"Okay now I'm thinking I need to have you in and get your brain scanned," retorted Bob.

"Leave me alone if you don't want to talk about it."

"I'm serious," insisted Bob.

"No, I am serious. Look, I told you, I started running in the mornings— _outside_ —and you seemed not to believe that people run _outside_ and couldn't workout in gyms because there is no possible way to meet anybody, but apparently there is, and she walks dogs."

"Okay, I can only imagine some lady who has gray hair which is really long but she should really cut it and is this 60s holdover and has a million dogs, and she wears clothes she gets at a thrift store, dog walker."

"Nope. I assure you, young woman, dog walker," said Fitzwilliam.

"When do I get to meet her?" asked Bob, who sat up and leaned forward eagerly.

"Never. _I know you._ I will invite you to our wedding," answered Fitz.

"What! You're not thinking that far down the road?" Bob's eyes danced with surprise and amusement.

"No, but the way you like to charm women…the only way I am letting you near my Liz is to invite you to our wedding. _Then_ you can meet her."

"Okay then," Bob stood up. "Dog walker?"

"Yup," nodded Fitzwilliam.

"Can I tell Mom?" asked his cousin.

Darcy huffed. "She will probably tell Aunt Kate."

"I won't tell Mom then," sighed Bob. "I suppose I should go to work."

"Ah, yeah, we've been chatting forever here, on company time, and Alex is going to be here any minute."

"I hate my job," said Bob as he walked out the door.

* * *

Fitzwilliam thought about what Liz had mentioned and what Bob had brought up. What did he like to do besides work? For years, there had been no time to do anything besides work. He had gone from working hard in college, to taking on the responsibility of a company with its internal battles, to dealing with his parents' estate, to dealing with the responsibilities of his sister. He had _always_ been occupied and busy. Bob, at least, had finished college. Bob did not have siblings to deal with. He had his mother to help him. Bob had music to soothe that savage soul of his.

Fitz wondered, if he stopped working so hard and had free weekends, would he fill them with? His first thought was that he would like to fill them with a companion, share them with someone.

 _Should he take up competitive boat racing_? He did not truly think that was what he would like to occupy his time with. What little free time he had had in the past often had been with Georgie's activities until she had gone away to school. Then somehow, he had filled that time with charity events, people asking him for money for 'good causes'.

He realized suddenly that that was when Alex had started coming to him and detailing all of the types of events given by venture capitalists or other rich people in the area, as if it was this exclusive little club, one where they all had their little pet projects. They all asked each other for money, traded it back and forth. Alex had suggested he attend these events. One of the benefits to her was that he often brought her along.

He was not sure if that was what he wanted to do. Being a generic philanthropist did not really appeal to him. There were one or two charities he thought were worthy, but this generic once or twice a month attendance at an event, to dress up in black tie, and attend a $250 or $500 or $1000 a plate dinner to save this, or fund that, event was not the lifestyle he wanted.

There were a lot of newly rich people in Silicon Valley. People who made money in business but who could remember the time before they had it; back when they were ordinary. Then there were people who never knew anything but having money, and they were often two different creatures. Fitz felt he fell in the middle because he could sort of remember before they had moved to Atherton and before Pemberley Energy took off.

Fitz knew, like his friend, Charles (who had always lived with money), what it was like to grow up with money. But he thought he never wanted to lose hold of reality. Something he often saw lost with some people who had more money than they knew what to do with, buy an island, really? Like the Atherton neighbors who felt the need to tear down and rebuild their house anew every five or ten years. Or the people who bought yet another vacation home in a foreign country rather than, heaven forbid, stay in a hotel.

Perhaps there was a way to do something charitable with his business? He thought about that brusque conversation with Liz where she had accused him of profiting unduly off of the backs of people, and he had suggested that he might be a microlender. He thought perhaps he might do something with energy. Look into developing an efficient and cheap form of it for the third world _._

But his thoughts came back full circle. What did he want to do on the weekends? What did he want to do, besides work? Fitz knew in an instant: spend as much time as possible with Liz.

* * *

A/N: I have a minimum word count I like to meet, and should really have posted this chapter last time. I've hurried through editing "Fever" to get it up, so continue reading.


	9. Fever

Chapter Nine

"Fever"

 _Sun lights up the daytime  
_ _Moon lights up the night  
_ _I light up when you call my name  
_ _And you know I'm gonna treat you right_

 _You give me fever  
_ _When you kiss me  
_ _Fever when you hold me tight_

Fitzwilliam Darcy realized how different his mornings had become. In some ways, more complicated, but in other ways his life was simplified because his meetings with Liz were like looking in a mirror and seeing who he was, and where he was, what he had done, and what he needed to do.

When people used the word 'complicated' they often mean disturbing and unpleasant, but Fitzwilliam thought how much he now enjoyed having a reason to get out of bed every morning, to pull on his jogging pants and to get out of doors. Even if it meant he had to play catch up with emails and voicemails when in the office. Even if his morning routine had slid so that he was not always sitting in his kitchen, like clockwork, for breakfast.

They greeted one another and immediately set to walking. He figured that he had established that he would not kiss her hello but would kiss her goodbye after yesterday. Liz seemed tired, and he commented on that. She indicated that she had evening classes on Mondays and Tuesdays, which meant that Tuesday and Wednesday mornings were harder with those late evenings. He filed that information away.

"What was the class last night?" he asked.

"I have to say that I have not been impressed with this one," she said in a rather discouraging tone.

"Oh?" He looked at her, but she did not appear to wish to discuss her coursework, or at least this particular class. "Are you certainly off to your family again this weekend?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. "Unless I am so behind in schoolwork that I can beg off, I _have_ to go."

"You have one of those types of mothers, a sort of Italian mother," he ventured.

"I have never thought of it that way," she said, "never associated that type with an _Italian_ mother because I have an Italian father. But I suppose, if you wanted to stereotype it, I do."

"Your father's Italian, huh?" he said, clutching onto that little fact. "So you have Roman, romantic-sounding last name?"

"No," she retorted, but giggled.

"Hmmm, I thought I was going to make an in and had uncovered a clue there," he said.

"You sort of did. I admit I have Italian roots."

"Is that where you get the hair from?" he asked.

She burst out laughing. "Not all Italians have dark brown hair!"

"I don't seem to be doing very well today," he changed the subject from Liz to himself. "I've thought more about me."

"Ah, we're to talk about you now!" she cried.

"Don't you want to know more about me?" he asked.

"I suppose I do," she admitted.

"But you asserted, and I have admitted, that I work too much. I looked up boat racing." He shook his head. "I do not think I am built for boat racing."

"Golf then?" she asked.

" _No_ ," he said. "I have been thinking about philanthropy and ways to help people out of poverty."

"Really?"

"Really. Though I fear if I say too much, I might be revealing just what this rich business man does," he looked at her to see her response but she was looking forward, at the dogs.

"Well perhaps we should leave it off there then."

"If I work really hard and I stay late, can we have dinner again on Friday?" he asked as they were about thirty feet from their corner.

"It is my turn to treat," she said, turning to look at him. "And we agreed you have to be a cheap date."

"I can be a cheap date," he said.

"Okay then," she said as they walked to the corner. "I shall have to think about where we should go and what I can afford."

"Just let me know and I will be there with bells on."

"That might be embarrassing," she laughed.

He repeated his actions from Monday. Put a hand on her arm, a kiss on her cheek. Then he stood and looked at her. "I am thinking I should figure out how to kiss you before I am hot and sweaty."

"Just don't be hot and sweaty on Friday," she said.

"Okay," he agreed.

* * *

He got home from work that day at a decent time intending to set up his laptop in his office at home. Alex always insisted on calling it a _study_. Cherie had yapped at him as he came in from the garage. It must have been laundry day as there was a basket in the hallway outside of the laundry room, and he could hear the machines working. Fitzwilliam hung up his coat and worked his way to the kitchen with his sister's dog still at his heels barking about her day.

Yvonne was taking something from the oven, and he realized he must have skipped lunch again as the smell made his stomach grumble.

"There's bread on the counter," she called. He moved over to cut himself a piece and dip it into a bowl of olive oil.

"I meant to tell you I was coming home early," he said.

"Alex called to tell me you were," Yvonne answered as she lifted the lid from her dish and smiled at her creation.

"Oh," he finished his slice and cut himself another piece of bread. "I didn't even see her this afternoon. How did she know I was leaving and coming home?"

"She keeps tabs on you, that one," said Yvonne. "Pot roast tonight," she continued as she pulled a cutting board out and a rather weapon-sized fork from a drawer. He watched her lift the roast from the pan and put it onto the board. Cherie, who had followed him into the kitchen, yapped at Yvonne's feet, and he saw that Benny was there as well, both dogs certain that there would be treats for them when Yvonne began carving. Fitzwilliam heard the jangle of a collar and even Jack nudged against him, stopping to lean on Darcy as the dogs all watched Yvonne in anticipation.

"You are quite popular. I have never seen them so happy," he said.

"You've been happy yourself," she said looking up from her board. "Care to elaborate?" She pushed the carving board away from the edge of the counter and looked down at the dogs. "Not yet!" she barked down at them. Only Benny dutifully sat.

"I had a date last week," he said. Fitzwilliam did not sit. He did not feel like sharing too much, just as he had only shared basic details with Bob. "It's good to get out and do something besides work."

"I agree. You take on too much, and need to lighten your load. It's good that you're getting out in the mornings and not working out _and_ answering emails at the same time. Sometimes we need to just do one thing at a time."

"Mommy, the video ended," cried a voice. Fitz turned to see that Derek was camped out on one of the couches in front of the French doors in the family room, though the entire kitchen and family room was one large space.

"I, however, being a mom, never get to do just one thing at a time," sighed Yvonne. "The laundry buzzer just went off too."

"I didn't hear it," he remarked.

"Moms have extra good hearing," she smiled. "I am pleased to hear you had a date, Mason," she smiled like a concerned, yet happy mother. "I'll call you when dinner is truly ready."

"Thanks Yvonne," he said. "Come on Jack," he patted the old gray head and walked back through the house to his office. He waited to ensure that Jack did not stop and lay back down by the French doors, but continued to follow him to the office.

Jack was dutiful and rather than setting up his laptop, Fitz sat down on the floor, and the old dog gratefully collapsed next to him, throwing a head up into his lap.

"Jack, I really like this one," he explained to his dog as he ran his fingers over that head and smoothed down the ears. "I keep thinking about her at odd times. I will look up at someone in a meeting and realize they asked me a question and don't you know, I wasn't paying attention." He reached a hand out to pat the dog's flank as well. "I wish I could _see_ more of her. I wish I _knew_ more of her." He took Jack's muzzle in his hands and gazed into the dog's eyes. "Can't she just give me her phone number so I can text?"

Jack had no answer to give but simply invited Darcy to continue with his affection, so Fitz went back to smoothing his ears. "I will ask her for her phone number. I'd rather have that than her last name." His hand kept up its methodical dance on Jack's ears. "I wonder what made her so nervous around men, or rich men, or rich business men that she took such a dislike to me? I think I am winning her over though."

He stopped his movements and Jack poked him with his muzzle. "I really want to win her over," he explained.

Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy started up his petting again. "I think I will go crazy if I only get to see her once a week. I need to get out of the office more."

* * *

Liz went to say hello and yawned instead. The dogs did not wait for Fitzwilliam to greet them but jump-started their walk and pulled her along.

"You said you had class on Tuesday nights as well?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. She could not cover her yawn because her hands were occupied with leashes and harnesses. "I kind of like this class though, fiction writing."

"Sounds like an English major sort of class," he offered.

"I am still not sure what I want to do with an English degree. I could certainly go to work in a business and write grant proposals. Go to work for a microlender…I suppose," she said it with humor as she looked over at him. "But there's a spark of creativity I have found I did not know I had inside of me. Like I have these little doodles of stories inside that I then sit down and craft. I am always amazed at what I get in the end."

"So you are, perhaps, to be a famous novelist?" he asked.

"I don't think so," she said in all sincerity. "I rather…we've been working on _short_ stories. At first, I did not think I liked the idea of a short story. I have always been the type of person who lost herself in a book."

"Somehow I can see that about you," and he did. He could imagine this figure lying in various attitudes on a beach towel, on a sofa, even up on a tree limb, lost in a story.

"But I found I like being forced to conform to the structure of a short story. It must be less than so many words. Less than 10,000, it must less than 2,000, it must be one thousand words exactly! That one was dangerous. To have an exact word count, but oh so fun because you don't…you cannot have elaborate back stories with people, you have to let people make assumptions about things, but then can throw twists and turns at them and oh!" Her voice did a little trill of delight that made something inside him sing along with her.

He could hear the joy and satisfaction in her voice, and he thought how much he wanted to spend more time with this woman. Was it so wrong that _that_ was what he wanted to do on his weekends? Spend more time with Liz? And not race boats or solve the world's problems? Maybe they could talk about things he could do with his time, but he sighed just realizing how thrilling it was to hear the excitement in her voice and feel the lump in his throat as he listened to her share about the passion that story-writing gave her.

"I love hearing about your school and your day," he said. "I wish we had more time."

"College student," it was her rejoinder, her title, her occupation, her excuse.

"We are still okay for dinner on Friday?" he asked.

"Yes, though I have not had time to consider a place," she replied.

"Perhaps…if we exchange phone numbers we can bounce ideas off of each other so we can use our time in the mornings for other things."

"You're persistent," Liz replied.

"I'm smitten," he said. She stopped walking, and Orion and Sirius kept going until their leashes stretched to their full extent then stopped though they pulled at her.

"Smitten?" she said just as her feet were pulled a step forward by the Jack Russells.

"Yes, very. I love hearing about your classes. I love hearing you talk about your family. I love getting hints about you. I find myself in a meeting and losing my train of thought because I am wondering if you are in class. Don't you think that is smitten?" he asked.

Liz clicked the buttons on Orion and Sirius's leads to pull them back in, stepped over closer to Fitzwilliam and, despite the audience of dogs and his sweaty shirt still sticking to him, she leaned in to kiss him. He eagerly obliged. "Yes, smitten," she agreed, expressing her own take on their situation. "…is a great word. How is your memory?"

"Good," he said, his breathing still rough. She told him her seven digit phone number. "Got it," he said.

"If you think B-E-N then all you have to do is memorize four digits as the first three spell Ben," she said.

"Even easier," he said repeating the last four. "Can I text you?"

"I am home by 6:00 tonight, and we usually all eat together, but yeah. Besides, you have to text me first so I have your number, don't you?"

"Yes," his lips found hers again, and he repeated the four numbers kissing her in between each pronunciation.

"By George, I think you've got it," said Liz when she came up for air. "Goodbye Fitz."

"Goodbye, Liz."

* * *

He had a meeting with Jackson Carter and there was a text from Georgie: _I need to talk to you._

"If you will excuse me," he said. Fitz stepped out of the meeting and texted her back. _I am in a meeting, but can we talk in a half hour?_

 _Facetime me_ was her reply

He hated Facetime at work because he feared Alex was listening despite the closed door but he replied: _Yes, ok_

 _35 minutes no later_ was sent back.

He wondered what was up with his sister. Whether her plans for spring break were not going as well, or if she had a fallout with a friend. He realized he would never get over playing something of a parental role with her.

"Mason, I need to talk to you…" Alex stood when he walked up to his office after the meeting.

"I have a call," he was brusque.

"Just two minutes," she held up two fingers.

"No," he answered, and closed his door.

He could never tell if Alex was right outside or if she had walked away. She always seemed to be sneaking up on him, but he gave over thinking about his PA and called his sister.

"Have you made your plans for spring break, Florida?" He asked as soon as her face appeared.

"Yes, I booked my tickets as soon as we talked last time."

He propped his phone against his external monitor. "What's up?"

"You're very business-like today," she accused.

"It's mid-week. I just got out of a meeting. I think I forgot to eat lunch again. I am not sure I had enough coffee this morning," he had a list of reasons to be _business-like_.

"I think I want to change my major," she said, ignoring his comments and launching into her own issue.

"You do? To what?" he asked.

"Art."

"Art? I did not know you did art, or liked art," he said, he kept his voice even-toned.

"How do I know if I don't try it?" she turned her head. Though talking on Facetime was not quite the same as being in-person, the body language was largely the same.

"So you're going to drop biology for art?" he asked.

She blew out a breath. "I can hear that tone in your voice, Mason."

"It is my job to look after you," he said.

"Yeah, but I am old enough to look after myself."

"And yet you call me," he argued, "and ask for my permission about these things."

"Like I said, I always want your blessing." Her face came in and out of view as she had her phone in-hand and she moved it so her face was not so entirely in the screen, but more of her dorm room showed behind her.

"Why art?" he asked.

"I like pretty pictures?" she quipped.

"Georgie?"

"It's…biology just isn't my thing. Um…"

"How are your grades?" he pressed.

"Fair," she did not look away as she always did when she was being deceitful. "I could finish my biology degree, Mason, I really could. I just want to try art."

"So why not take art classes and keep up with the biology degree until you decide if you like art?" There was a long drawn-out pause while they both looked at each other. "You're not thinking about changing schools to take art classes are you?"

"Not exactly, there's just this different campus..."

"Take an art class and see," he said gently. Again there was silence as she fiddled with her phone and he saw flashes of her room. "We both know Mom liked to doodle, to draw. I don't know if that's what made you think about this, Georgie. But she never took any classes and it doesn't mean there is some innate ability in you to draw, because Mom drew."

"I just want to be like her," she said. Georgie was looking down and not up at the screen.

"There is a lot of ways that you are like Mom. But trying to be _exactly_ like Mom isn't going to bring Mom back," he said.

"You don't understand." And the screen went dead.

He sat and stared at his blank phone and knew she wouldn't answer if he called her now so he got to work, distracting himself with other things while he considered a sibling who was 1,500 miles away, technically an adult, but in some ways, still mourning the death of a mother who had been gone for seven years. A sister who was still that eleven year old girl who did not want to part with a mommy.

Georgie rarely ever spoke about their father. It was interesting that a mother dying of cancer, something that was so out of a child's control, just could _not_ be accepted. Whereas their father's death seemed perfectly logical, and Georgie rarely spoke of it, or seemed to have no issues with it. Yet to Darcy, it was his father's passing—taking his own life—that _he_ struggled with.

He felt as if he had barely time to catch his breath before there was a knock on his door, and Alex was turning the knob. "Two minutes?" she asked poking only her head in. Miss Carlyle had to have been listening at the door.

"Alex, if my door is closed, please respect it. Unless, of course there's an emergency," he added as he figured he should be concerned with emergency protocols.

She huffed, pulled her head back around the door and closed it.

Fitzwilliam picked up his phone, unlocked the screen, tapped his Favorites menu and looked at his list. He had added Liz to the bottom, and he considered texting her then, but she said she wouldn't be home until later. He did not want to text her during class and get her in trouble with some crotchety professor. He tapped his calendar open and noticed he had no other meetings that day. He would go home early and work from there. He could take Jack for a walk while there was still light out and then sit in his home office on his laptop.

He quickly closed down everything, packed up his laptop, considered texting both his sister and Liz again, but locked his phone and put it in his pants pocket. Darcy pulled on his jacket, then pulled open his door. Alex swiveled around in her chair and jumped to her feet.

"Calendar stuff!" she cried.

"Email me," he said and walked straight past her. "I am going home early and will work from home," he called over his shoulder though without truly looking back.

* * *

 _Hi_ texted Fitz.

 _Hi_ came back.

 _Just testing 'text Liz'_

 _Loud and clear_ she sent back

He sent: _Wednesdays always seem to be tough, middle of the week and all_

 _Only one class so catch-up day for me_ _S_ he replied.

 _Jack's helping me with work_ He texted then.

 _Show me_

He took a picture of the dog lying next to his desk and sent it to her.

She replied: _He looks happy_ , _does he often join you?_

 _No, this has been new_

He longed to actually dial her number and to hear her voice. Or to Facetime her, but he did not want to impinge on her study time. Instead, he texted.

 _Did you have dinner with roommates?_ He was not quite ready to sign off.

 _No. Brad and Ron went out. Char said she was caught in lab. It's just me._

He touched the phone, running his finger along the side of the case. It would be so easy to call her, but she said she was catching up on school work. They had their Friday plans. But it was hell on him to be patient.

 _See you tomorrow, bye_ He wrote.

 _Ciao_ Was her reply.

Yvonne had an appointment though she had pointed out that there were leftovers from the evening before and had jokingly pointed out the microwave to him. She had come into the house when she saw him come home early. Fitz had assured her he could fend for himself.

He thought that he and Liz could easily have eaten together before she needed to study. But perhaps she had a routine and it would disrupt it to stop and eat with him. It might make her more uncomfortable to see his house if she had such a low opinion of rich men.

He almost felt like Sisyphus pushing his rock up the hill as though he would never reach the top. Fitzwilliam puttered into his white and tan and gray kitchen with its bank of windows which looked out into an expansive green yard beyond (though that was shared with the mother-in-law unit where Yvonne and Mike lived) and considered Liz of the anonymous last name.

He still had no idea where she went to school. Was it Menlo College, the local private 4-year college, or one of the local community colleges, or did she go to a state school? He had no true idea of her academic prowess, though she had to be in financial need if she walked dogs for a living. She seemed to like him in return though their first date had not gone as smoothly as he liked. _He_ had thought it was a date and _she_ had not thought it through that far.

But there was something compelling about her, a sort of bundle of energy with her posse of dogs at 6:30 in the morning. And as he had told her that morning, he was smitten. He felt on the verge of falling in love, but there was that hesitancy about her that made him hold back and tamper down his own emotions. Kissing her that morning had certainly awakened emotions he had not long experienced, or even ever considered he knew. As he reheated his dinner, he thought that he must go slow with Liz. But like Sisyphus, would he never crest the hill?

* * *

Barkington and Gidget greeted him as had become their usual habit, with short, sharp barks, but even Orion and Sirius joined in that morning as Fitzwilliam was walking Cherie and Benny. The dogs acted as though they had never seen each other before and there was a lot of maneuvering, dog-type maneuvering, and greeting among the seven dogs. Only Prince Rudolph seemed uninterested.

"I forwent running to get the dogs out this morning," he explained. It meant he was not covered in sweat. "Good morning, Liz," his leash-free hand snaked around her waist to pull her against him. His kiss was more than the quick peck he usually managed as his goodbye kisses, but hungry and inviting, and relaying his interest to her. Fitzwilliam did not want to be stuck being 'sort of friends,' sort of dating in an endless cycle.

Her hands were occupied as the five dogs pulled in various angles, but she managed to kiss him back with a certain fever though Liz then butted him in the chest with her head when they parted. "Good morning, Fitz," she said to him.

He rubbed his chest. "I'm not hot and sweaty this morning, so I can get closer."

"Maybe I like hot and sweaty," she teased as she turned to walk, and made a small noise in her throat. He was not sure if she was laughing at him or with him. "So maybe a point for walking the dogs," she offered.

"Anything for the kiss?" he asked.

"I'll let you know," she said. He was looking at her in the filtered light of the morning, and he thought he saw her lips twitch in a mischievous smile, but her face was schooled for the most part.

"I forgot that men have whiskers," she said.

"I think it's been two days too," he had the advantage of having a free hand. "I was running a little late yesterday and opted not to shave."

"It's probably the in-look among Silicon Valley business owners, isn't it?"

" _Probably_ , if not full-grown beards," he replied.

"Another full day, today?" she asked.

"Always. You said yesterday was actually slow for you?"

"Not _slow_ ," she explained. "Only having one class on Wednesday does not mean _slow_. It just means I use the time to read and write. I am _always_ occupied," she said. "I have a lot of Tuesday/Thursday classes. Today, I will have my butt in a chair most of the time. And then home and more reading."

"Have you figured out where we are to go tomorrow?" he asked. "You haven't forgotten about me?"

"No," she said, though her voice changed. "There is a sort of Mexican place I was considering, but, um, I will have a little more time tomorrow to think about it. I may need to text you. Even after our walk."

"That's fine," he said. "Just so long as you don't forget about me."

"I don't think I could forget about you, Fitz," she said.

"Have I grown on you?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered.

"Any more points then?"

"What is it with you and points?" she cried.

"It is you who set the precedence. You docked me all my points. I am eager to earn them back."

"Maybe if you kiss me again, I might award some more." It sounded like a challenge.

"Gladly," and he indulged her. "How did I do?" he asked when they both came up for air.

"Half a point."

"Just a half a point!" he grumbled as his two pulled on their leads.

"Don't make me dock you for questioning my system," she laughed. He leaned over and captured her lips again. His free hand pulled her even closer while their tongues had a fierce battle with one another. "Better," she said with a softer and rather breathless voice. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I look forward to having more than ten minutes with you tomorrow," he said.

* * *

Charles came to see him, and they spent a long time on a planning meeting. Fitz thought again how good it was to have his friend near, and that the company was heading in a new direction with new energy. But a planning meeting with just him and Charles could not end without a personal discussion.

Bingley had lamentations about the lack of pretty girls in Palo Alto. "I go out both weekend nights and yet have been continually disappointed," said Charles sitting back in his chair.

"That says a lot," said his friend. "I did not think you were all that picky when it came to potential dates."

"Thanks a lot," said Bingley. "I'm not sure that's something I want to hear from a man who said he had not dated in three years."

"Yes, but all that has changed now. I'm the one with a girlfriend and you are the one complaining about the lack of available partners," said Fitzwilliam.

"You seemed to have moved awfully fast. I believe you are making it all up to pull the wool over my eyes, and to get one back at Bob for all of his boasting about his prowess with women."

"Bob's prowess with women is a documented fact, alas," said Darcy, "though one wonders how he manages it. You both are similar in some ways. Though he is only set on seduction whereas you want romance. I fear you are going to be sorely disappointed if you want romance in this area."

"How so? Why would women be any different here than in San Diego or in England?"

"I fear there is something about Silicon Valley that just gets under people's fingernails." He realized that was a bad analogy as it seemed to invoke the idea of foreign objects, like splinters, under the nails, and not just dirt, and Charles said so.

"What, are they like splinters?" asked Bingley.

"Perhaps that is right. Everyone comes here because it is the land of golden opportunities. The next get-rich quick place. If you don't come because of software or social networking, maybe because of some healthcare start-up, then you come with the idea that you will meet somebody who will pull you along with them. It isn't just women who want to meet rich husbands, there are men who are determined to find a rich spouse and become a house husband."

"Equal rights all around, I suppose," said Charles. "Eww."

"What?"

"I suppose we had similar things in England. Those empty-headed upper-class type women who were raised to be married off to rich men. Somehow that seems less offensive than being so pointed about it. People seem out for blood money here. Back home, I don't know, it was at least about making a home together and a lifestyle. The British Way."

"Are you sure you're not reminiscing Charles?"

"Perhaps I am," said Bingley. "Perhaps I am. It is, perhaps, reacting to the change. I don't know how to maneuver here. I am not political. I am still a man who likes romance and wooing as much as I also like the bedding part. "

"Political—I think you've got it. People are almost political about who they date," said Fitzwilliam.

"So, a girlfriend? You called her a girlfriend," prompted Charles.

"Well, I don't know. We haven't really been going out long," mused Fitz.

"I know two weeks ago you were in desperate need…" said Charles.

He ignored the _desperate_ quip. "But as I have no one else in my life, what else am I supposed to call her?"

"And you met her because you went out?" asked Charles.

"I met her because we were walking our dogs."

"Walking dogs, huh! It never occurred to me to try that one! Maybe it's time I tried getting a dog. Girls like that kind of thing, don't they? You have a dog and they come over and talk to you. Are we done?"

"Yes, I think we have definitely ventured off of the topic of motor design," said Fitzwilliam Darcy, CEO and friend. "And I have other things to do, so we are done."

* * *

"Where's Jack?" asked Liz as Fitzwilliam approached with Cherie and Benny pulling eagerly at their leashes. The two groups intermingled as the two humans did as well. She stood almost as if a statue to all dog walkers with her arms held away from her body because the five dogs pulled at their leads as she welcomed his free arm around her waist, her chin tilted up to receive a kiss.

"You smell good," he said after the first kiss, then dipped in for a second before he released her. "You taste good too."

"You still haven't answered my question," she said as she opened her eyes.

"I still worry that he is not up for walks like this. His age is against him," explained Fitzwilliam as they started their walk.

"I suppose you know what is best for him," she responded. He considered that a rather big concession on her part as he figured she knew best when it came to dogs. "Where are we going tonight and what time?" Fitz hoped he did not sound too eager, but he knew he was. He felt like a kid waiting to be taken out for scoops of ice cream, in a cone, and he wanted two scoops at least, maybe even three.

"Still not sure," she yawned. "I was up working on a paper and will work more on it today to finish it."

"That means I will need to text you today, you realize?" he pointed out.

"Yes, I realize," she answered.

He asked about her paper, and she described it as they walked, then all too soon they parted, though not before he tasted her lips once again.


	10. Tell the Truth

Chapter Ten

"Tell the Truth"

 _Tell the truth  
_ _Tell the truth  
_ _Well, you know what you done to me,  
_ _You made me fall for you_

 _Tell the truth  
_ _Tell the truth  
_ _Well you know you can make me do what you want me to_

Liz was worried. She liked Fitz more than she wanted to admit.

Her entire freshman year had been one of ignoring any young man who might be interested in her. She had focused on her studies, and got used to being away from home and out from under the thumb of her mother. Liz had been pleased to recover some semblance of pride. Pride in having accomplished enough to get into Stanford, and pride in doing well once she arrived. She made friends in those classes and enjoyed the coursework.

Her living arrangement, living off-campus with Charlotte and Brad, meant she did not get to experience life as most students did, to be on-campus and in the heart and soul of college life. She had a more mature take on college life with having to commute to campus, pay rent, cook her own meals, and collect a paycheck.

By her second year, she had a routine down and was able to enjoy being a young adult living in the Bay Area. Not that going home to Merriton was still not an appreciated joy; for all that her mother was the same. _Same_ also meant home-cooked meals, and her time with her father gave her a break from the rigors of school. Time to be with someone who asked nothing of her but her presence, and to occasionally fetch him a bottle of beer.

Liz learned to move beyond the hurts of her relationship with Kevin, and attempted, at Charlotte's urging, to date. But no young man turned her head. She was asked out a number of times, but college men seemed to like to drink and go to parties with loud music. Liz went to parties with Brad and Ron, grad student parties, where there was less thumping music and more conversation. There was always flirting, often someone got a little too drunk or stoned, but Liz liked these parties better. Undergrad parties just seemed to be drunken parties, with awkward fondling which often ended in being begged for a quick shag. She did not want awkward, drunken sex; she wanted romance.

Liz thought it odd that Charlotte was always pushing her to date. Charlotte worked long hours in school and in the lab, but she often made time to go out on a weekend night for coffee or drinks too. But she did not date much (though she did not get asked out much in the first place). And Char complained about the lack of eligible men in graduate school. Charlotte often claimed many were gay or already taken by the time they got there. Liz often thought that odd as she thought undergraduate college men had not the slightest interest in relationships and were only interested in sex. Their experiences were very different. Perhaps, Charlotte had a far different set of criteria in a potential mate than Liz.

Not that Liz had ever sat down to compile a list of traits she admired. But she thought she knew more of what she did _not_ want, which was a rich businessman, and yet she seemed to have found another man with those same criteria. So she was worried.

* * *

Fitzwilliam had a morning of back-to-back meetings. It was just shy of lunchtime when he finally sat down at his desk and pulled out his phone to see if Liz had texted, but she had not. He thought he ought to call her to make their arrangements for the evening.

"Mason, what time will you pick me up this evening?" asked Alex as she walked into his office, her phone in her hand.

He looked up from his own phone, at his contacts list, at the entry 'Liz' with her phone number underneath as Alejandra's words made no sense. "Pick you up?" he asked, looking up, but not exactly catching Alex's eyes as he tried to understand her statement.

"Yes," she wiggled her phone, "the charity auction for the art gallery. You purchased tickets ages ago." Her eyes left his as she pulled her phone in front of her in an efficient manner, and she used a highly polished and manicured finger to tap open the calendar item. "Art Auction. Opens at 6:00 p.m. with drinks. Dinner at 7:00. Silent auction runs until 9:00. Live Auction begins at 9:30. Dancing at 11:00 or whenever the Live Auction concludes." She looked back at him. "So what time are you picking me up?"

"I'm not," he replied. Her finger still hovered over that phone which was still held aloft as she processed the information, and then Alejandra Carlyle shook her head as though she had not heard Mason Darcy correctly. Both her arms slowly lowered. "I have other plans tonight," he said looking at her rather blank expression.

"You RSVP'd," she said, her voice rising. Fitzwilliam shrugged his shoulders. "The tickets are $500 a piece," she said as her free hand tapped her thigh.

"I made other plans tonight, as I said. I forgot about the auction. They can keep my ticket money and use it for a good cause," he replied and looked again at that contact listing on his phone.

"You can't just _not_ show," she said, her voice rising in tone and volume even more.

"I have dinner plans," he clicked his phone screen off so it went blank and put it face down on his desk. "Perhaps I will show up later for the Live Auction. Is it black tie?"

Alejandra seemed to relax at that suggestion, "yes, it is black tie," she smiled a little. "I am sure The Goshes, whose pet project it is, would appreciate our showing even if we come late."

He looked at her. " _Alex_. I have a date tonight. I am going to want to spend as much time as I can with Liz and then I'll go straight to the Auction. I will be going _stag_. I won't be stopping to pick you up." He could see her close up, see a hint of fury and frustration though she only pressed her arms more closely to her sides.

"Why don't you take this girl, this Liz with you then?" she sneered.

"She is a woman, not a girl," he said. "It is not her type of affair," he smiled a half-smile, "I doubt she has an appropriate dress." He stood up to stare down at her. "However, it is not in your job description to suggest what I do or don't do outside of company time. This benefit is not company-related so it falls outside of your normal responsibilities and it should not worry you if I attend, or not."

"But you bought me a ticket!" she cried in frustration.

"I did not buy _you_ a ticket. I purchased two tickets under my name, Alex. We have had an arrangement that you would come if I needed a second, but I think that I need to be clear that I am ending that arrangement now. Any time in the future, if I happen to purchase two event tickets, please do not ever assume you are my 'plus one.' "

She stood motionless. Fitzwilliam realized how much more she had assumed about her position in his life by her lack of response.

"If you could, give me a printout of charitable giving by the company for the past year," he said. "I want to be more targeted about where we are giving money and not just writing checks because someone asks and is holding an event. In fact, I want to get away from attending events and consider what the charities are doing with their money, overhead costs, that sort of thing. I am changing my personal giving as well."

Alejandra still stood mutely for a few more moments but she nodded once, then turned to go.

Fitz sat down and reached for his phone. He texted Liz. _Are you busy?_

 _Finished paper, eating lunch_ Came back to him.

 _Does that mean you are busy? Can I call?_

 _I'm free_ She answered.

"Hi," she said as soon she picked up.

"Well this is a first, I have never talked to you on the phone." He got up to close his office door. "Have you decided where we are going to go tonight? Can we meet at three again?"

"I thought we met at 5:30 last week," she replied.

He loved their banter. "How about 4:00 this time?"

"Maybe 5:00?" she countered.

"4:30," he argued.

"I don't know that the place I picked out is a place where we can sit, talk, and eat for that long," she said.

"Well you said, Mexican, right?" he pressed.

"Yes."

"I know a nice Mexican restaurant where the service is annoyingly, painstakingly slow. So we could linger over dinner." His amusement at a restaurant with poor service and using it to his advantage was evident.

"Yes, but…um…I am not sure that it would fit my budget," she said.

"True," he replied. "So we are sort of at an impasse with time and money being considerations at opposite ends. It gets dark too quickly that we could plan to walk around somewhere, afterward, and use that as an option."

"No," she agreed with a rather clipped response. "I was thinking," she said, after a rather long, awkward pause. "That maybe I should cook you dinner. That is doable on my budget. But I am…I don't know that I have time to shop. I also don't know that I am quite ready to invite you over."

"I think that is fair," he said. There was a silence then with just their breathing echoing against their phones. "How about we switch weeks? And maybe by next week you are willing to cook me dinner and this week we go out for Mexican food, with agonizingly slow service, and it gives us time to talk, and it will be my treat."

"Okay then," she said.

"You know, since the service is so bad, we really need to meet at 4:30."

She laughed then, the concerns she had, seemed to have disappeared; her voice was more relaxed sounding, "4:30, huh. Are you sure your boss will let you go?" He thought he could hear her smile all the way through the phone.

"It's a Friday! Who is going to notice my comings or goings?" he asked.

"Didn't you admit you went home between work and dinner last time," she said.

"Guilty as charged," he said. "I may need to leave now, to go home, so I can be ready. _Actually_ ," there was a lilt in his voice.

"Yes?"

"I still haven't shaved," he ran his hand along the edge of his chin, "you hear that?"

"No," she admitted.

"I should shave," he insisted thought a little disappointed she count not tell.

"Maybe I like beards."

"You said you had forgotten that men had stubble?"

"Yes, I did."

"But, I could just as easily work from home. I've had back-to-back meetings since I got to work. I could go home, eat a light lunch and then meet you for dinner," he said. "Or we could have lunch together and then we could have dinner."

"I do have a little work to do before we meet up," she said, "and perhaps I am still in my pajamas. And maybe I need a shower."

He bit his tongue to prevent him from making any suggestive remark about sharing a shower. "Well then." He named the restaurant and the location. But Liz did agree to meet him at 4:30 which gave them two and a half hours to linger over dinner before she left for her weekend at home.

* * *

Liz signed off, and sat at her desk which happened to be in the dining room in her shared condo. She thought about things they had said and things they had not said in that conversation. She thought again about how much she liked Fitz. Devon Miyazaki came to mind, the first man since Kevin she had dated whose company she had enjoyed. They had gone out for a number of weeks. She thought they had been getting along quite well, but a relationship has to be about having an equal admiration for each other.

She really did like Devon. She had enjoyed seeing movies with him; she had enjoyed going to concerts with him; she had enjoyed kissing him. They had done things like going shopping at the farmer's market to sample produce, then cooking together on a free evening. But Devon had been over-the-top crazy about her. That had been difficult for her. She felt pressured to like him back more than she was willing to, to give more than she was capable of giving.

It was like some of those drunken college boys who only wanted her in bed. There was something about the pressure of admiration when one does not return it. There is an obligation to return it when somebody loves you but you do not love them in return.

But Fitz. She knew little about him. Liz should really ask his last name, find out about his business. But she loved the banter between them. She loved their daily walks and the light-hearted discussions about nothing in particular, but which still felt important as it gave a little insight, each day, into the other's character. She loved his kisses; they thrilled her in a way no other man's kisses had done. Liz looked forward to each day, looked forward to seeing more of Fitz and learning more about him. She had, ironically, learned to dread the weekends because she would not see him, though now that she had his phone number, she could text him from Merriton (so long as her mother did not catch her).

Her sandwich lay forgotten, and she should really finish fleshing out ideas on her Dickens paper, but she was lost in considering that _she_ needed to shower and change, just as _he_ had needed to shower and change. He probably had a very large shower, perhaps it had multiple shower heads. She wondered what it would be like to take a shower with a man.

* * *

He felt justified in leaving and working from home. Since meeting Liz, he had realized that work was his whole life; there had been nothing outside of work. He lived for work. He woke up, he went to work, and he worked late. He sometimes skipped meals because of work. He woke up on the weekends and while he might linger in bed; he still read reports, still checked email. His social life surrounded work as Alex coming in and talking to him about the art auction had indicated.

Fitz had never envisioned himself as a workaholic. Never thought of himself as a Type A person and yet here he was: fitting that profile. But now it was early afternoon, it was a Friday, and he had a date. He also had that auction (those tickets purchased long ago), but he was determined to make changes about his charity giving. He wondered if he could talk to Liz about such things.

He packed everything up; making sure his phone was in his pocket. His cousin Bob blocked the doorway when he looked up to go, and Fitzwilliam Darcy eyed him, and then pointed a finger at him. "I don't want to hear it."

"I was just going to invite you out to lunch," said Bob. "I thought we might talk about Easter."

There was a big sigh before Fitz answered, "I was going to go home, work there for the rest of the afternoon," he explained. "Could we have lunch on Monday and discuss _Easter?_ " He expressed the word in the same manner Bob had: through gritted teeth.

"I suppose," drawled Bob. "I don't recall the last time you ever went home this early," he narrowed his eyes. "Except I am really curious…"

Fitz put a hand up to his lips and nodded to indicate his PA's desk was right behind Bob. "You can grill me at lunch," explained the boss.

"I will, _in detail_. And we need to book flights, for _Easter_ ," said Bob.

"Will do," said Fitzwilliam.

It felt odd to be home in the middle part of the day, but the dogs were happy to see him. He realized that he actually did not have much food in the house, and he rarely ate lunch at home. He finished his meal and threw most of his utensils in the sink when Yvonne made an appearance with Benny at her heels.

"You are not usually home now, Mason," she remarked.

"I left work as I had no more meetings. This way I could eat, do a little work from home, and be ready to go out tonight."

"I see," she said, her voice had a little lilt at the end.

"I have a date," he explained.

"You've been a little distracted and little bit happier lately," she indicated.

"I have been feeling a little happier lately," he replied.

"That's good for you," cheered Yvonne.

"It's good for anyone," he countered.

"I need to go get Derek from school. I am largely done in the house though I have another load of laundry if you'll be home."

"Anything from my room?" he asked.

"No, everything is in the laundry room."

"I need to shower and shave before I go out," he explained.

"It's quite a date then," she replied.

"I rather like her," he said. "My Liz."

He dutifully set up his laptop and worked for a while but kept an eye on the clock; he wanted to allow himself time to get ready. He shut the screen off on his computer and smiled because Jack was sitting with him again. Fitz thought that he rather liked that.

He heard sounds in the house and thought that Yvonne must be back and was cycling that last load of laundry, but when he walked out of the study, he saw that the bedroom door next to the office was open when it had been closed before. He could hear sounds inside. Fitzwilliam walked in and saw a number of dresses strewn on the bed, but he did not see anyone. He walked into the bathroom which was attached to it, which also had a walk-in closet, and found his PA there.

"Alex," he called to her in surprise.

"Hi," she said with a sweet voice.

"Alex, you are in my house," it was an accusation.

"I am collecting my dresses," she answered with an extremely nonchalant tone to her voice. "They are all out on the bed."

"I see the dresses on the bed. I did not know you had dresses at my house."

"I have long used this bedroom, Mason. How did you not know that?"

He stood still for a minute and thought back over their relationship and realized the blurred lines there had been between the working relationship with her and the after-hours one, the non-professional one. Though he groaned inwardly, he still needed to deal with this _young woman who was in his house_. A woman who knew how to easily get into his house (probably through the garage and its key pad). Oddly, he recalled it had been her, three weeks before, who had sent him out to walk the dogs, and he had met Liz.

"Alex, I have hosted company functions at my house a number of times, downstairs in the lounge, and you were in charge of the guest list; I am assuming that is how you know how to get into my house. We have met here on a number of occasions when we have gone to events together. And yes, you have 'fixed your face,' I believe is what you said you were doing when Yvonne pointed you to this guest room. But I think there is a huge disconnect between us about our relationship. We have a professional one. You work for Pemberley Energy as my personal assistant. You are not a member of my household staff."

"Mason," Alex turned with her hands clutching a dress still in a new wrapper with a price tag on it, "don't you think there is some duplicity on your side about the nature of this _relationship_? For years, two years, I have been seen at all of these events on your arm. I have kept my things at your house. We don't necessarily have to be married for me to claim a breach of promise."

"We have no relationship," he said. "You were my guest at some corporate events, not a date. Not a girlfriend."

"I am finished here. I have my dresses, my things, Mason," she replied.

"Please leave my house," he asked.

He had been stepping around Alex since he needed an assistant. But Fitzwilliam thought that he did not need someone who hinted that she might take him to court for some sort of warped breach of promise, as though they had been in a relationship, and there had been some expectation between them. She seemed to think she was entitled to some money from him because of their supposed relationship. He would need to speak to his human resources department, and maybe the lawyers, about his rather forward assistant.


	11. La Vie en Rose

Chapter Eleven

"La Vie En Rose"

 _I thought that love was just a word  
_ _They sang about in songs I heard  
_ _It took your kisses to reveal  
_ _That I was wrong, and love is real_

 _Hold me close and hold me fast  
_ _The magic spell you cast  
_ _This is la vie en rose_

Fitz had a rather compelling evening ahead of him. As soon as he was assured his ignoble and unprincipled assistant had left, he showered and shaved. Then he spent an overly long time considering what to wear to a Mexican restaurant which had mediocre food and poor service, but a restaurant where Liz, his Liz, waited for him.

Once again he was a few minutes early. He did not walk around this time, but stood in front of the restaurant waiting. It had been open for lunch as well, and he could see diners inside. He thought that boded well for poor service and hopefully a long evening of conversation between them.

Suddenly she was there, and he was startled from fantasy to reality.

"Hi," he said. There was just something that lit him up inside at seeing her.

"You've out-dressed me again," she commented.

"It's workout clothes or work clothes for me, I fear. If you hang around long enough this evening you might even see me in black tie."

"Black tie? Are you going somewhere else tonight?" Liz sounded a little confused.

He hoped she was not hurt by his confession. "I have an art auction that is a black tie affair, rather swanky. I had tickets I forgot about when I made plans with you. I may as well crash there since you will be leaving me at seven," he said, then smiled a little, "you could stay, you could, come…I have _two_ tickets."

"Black tie? Do you see what I wear?" She was in jeans again but had on a jacket rather than a sweater this time.

"Well," he said, "maybe we could go shopping if you wanted to stay."

"Not an option. Unless you wanted to call my mother and explain why I was not coming home and picking up my baby sister."

"I get the feeling that I don't really want to do that," he said.

"I don't suggest it," she replied.

"Dinner awaits us," he said, and he pulled open the door for her.

"Such a gentleman," she said, and it almost sounded like singing to his ears.

"Always," he grinned.

There was no one at the hostess desk to note they were waiting, but that had been part of the plan. After a few minutes, they sat down in a very colorful reception area and talked while they waited to be seated.

"What are your plans for the weekend?" she asked.

"I suppose I will do the same thing I always do, which is work, read reports. Do you know what you are doing? You are to be under your mother's thumb, right?"

She smiled. "I do my best to _not_ be under my mother's thumb. I spend most of my weekend with my father if I am not studying."

"Really?" he tilted his head. "I had this idea that you were home baking cookies and being bossed around by your mother."

"You would be wrong then. I rather adore my father. We are a lot alike. Don't assume that the reason I complain about my mother means that I spend all my time with her," she pushed him gently against the shoulder with her own.

"I won't," he said. "What do you and your father do?"

"Dad's a bit of a tinkerer; he's rather good with his hands. He has a little workshop, and I am often sitting on a stool by his workbench," explained Liz.

"I see," he said, "that sounds rather fun."

"You're not a tinkerer by nature are you?" she inquired.

"I don't know. I don't know that I had a life before I took on the business," he explained.

"That sounds awful," she frowned. "You sound old before your time."

"Do you need a table?" said a voice, interrupting them.

"Yes, table for two," he called.

"This way," and they followed a young woman in the standard restaurant dress: black pants, white shirt.

"I think this menu has fewer items than last week's," remarked Liz as she opened it and scanned the two sides.

"I had never considered that, but there is not much to Mexican. Different fillings and different wrappings—just how you want to combine them. Know what you want?" he asked as he put down his menu.

"I am still considering my options," she shook her head.

"They are probably all fair, just get what you want," he said.

"You take me to a restaurant and only declare the food _fair_?" she cried, her eyes lighting up.

"We didn't come here for the food, remember?" he grinned then.

"That's true," she said.

Somehow, before they even ordered, they got on the subject of theater.

"I _have_ to like theater. I'm an English major: Shakespeare! There's a visual element," she explained. "They're meant to be _seen_ more than they are meant to be read. They're meant to be _heard_ more than they are meant to be studied. It's the words."

"But you can still appreciate the words when you read them," he argued.

"But sometimes we need to hear words aloud," she replied. "Lady Macbeth: ' _but screw your courage to the sticking place_.' Who really understands that without seeing it in context?" She had waved her hands in the air, but pulled them back to the tabletop.

"I wonder that you don't use ' _out, out, damned spot_ ' for Lady Macbeth," he said.

"It's ' _out, damned spot, out_ ,'" she smiled, but then frowned. "Sorry, my sisters hated it when I corrected them. But consider Othello," her hand came up to her chest, "' _beware, my lord, of jealousy; it is the green-ey'd monster_ ,' how much more powerful to see and hear that performed before you than to read it."

Liz held her hand up in the air next and adopted a rather bemused look on her face. "Or, A Mid Summer Night's Dream: ' _Lord what fools these mortals be_.'" The hand dropped down again. "That is just chicken scratch on paper, but when you have an actor up on a stage and hear it, it is far more passionate, you feel it here," she hit her chest. "To have six words to make us both laugh and to think at the same time. I am sure your dry old reports do no such thing!"

"I have to admit that my dry old reports never make me laugh and think at the same time," he agreed. Something inside him had inflamed as he watched her performance, the little flourishes of head and hand. Her eyes, and the expression of her mouth changing with each character. He considered how very smitten he was.

"Software," she said suddenly, then she shook her head. "Actually you are too clean-cut for software."

He realized that she was attempting to guess what his dry old reports were about when his thoughts were definitely elsewhere. "I believe most companies have some aspect of software, some custom software, but if you think my company's main focus is software, no."

"Hmmm," she pursed her lips just as their waitress finally showed up to take orders.

They returned to the topic of theater: they had a lot to share. It surprised both of them that they could talk about the subject in equal measure, and it was not all just from a literary standpoint. Their experience of plays were not only the ones English majors were required to suffer through, or the childish versions of famous Broadways ones which Fitzwilliam sat through when Georgie was involved in theater, but they both attended modern ones when they could find the time.

Fitz shared how his sister had been involved in many productions as a teen, watered-down productions of adult plays. He had encouraged Georgia to continue this interest after their father died. It had allowed her, in a way, to deal with the grief of losing both parents in a short amount of time. But mentioning Georgie's interest meant he had to talk about the fact that both his parents were gone.

"That must have been difficult for you." They were still waiting for their food, and Liz fiddled a little bit on the tabletop as it was a more serious topic than arguing about the differences between Russian and British playwrights. "I suppose it was up to you to hold your family together. Is it just you two, are there no cousins or other family?" she asked.

"I have two cousins, sort of nearby," he said. "My cousin Bob and my cousin Anne."

"Are they older or younger?" she asked.

"Both older, and yes they both assisted."

"That sounds rather clinical," she said with a small smile.

"They are only children," he said after a short pause. "Bob had no sister so he had no way to relate to a girl of that age. How was he to know how to deal with a twelve year old?" Fitz had paused as though he did not want to continue, but then kept speaking. "My cousin Anne is, well, I don't know...how much you understand about money and what it does to people?" he saw something, almost like a hood coming down over her eyes.

"Perhaps you do," he continued. "There are different ways it affects people. There are those who have only known what it was like to have money. Anyway, my cousin Anne is someone who always had a silver spoon. She never had siblings, and it has always been about her. It isn't that she doesn't care about other people, she simply cares mostly about herself." He shrugged his shoulders a little bit as he dismissed his cousin. "So it is me and my sister. I spent a lot of time figuring out what to do for Georgie. And drama worked well."

"I think I would go crazy if I had to deal with the grief of losing both my parents then having to deal with a sibling who was still a child. I'm thankful my parents got the having of us over so quickly that we are self-reliant and close in age. We are rather close, even if we are all different women and are studying different subjects. It must be different to be so far apart from your sister in age," remarked Liz.

He did not answer. She reached her hand across, palm out and he put his hand in hers. "Trials," he said, "trials."

"I am sorry," she replied.

"My life was a series of trials for a couple of years," he said.

"So you got a dog to tell all your secrets to," she mused. "That had to have helped."

"I never thought of it like that," he said.

"I imagine that the responsibility of one more life could have been your undoing, so getting Jack at that time had to have been a bonus and not a burden," she squeezed his hand.

"I don't think I have appreciated Jack as much as I should have," said Fitz, "when you put it like that."

"Dog walker," she explained, "it's my job. I think it is human nature to not appreciate the things in front of us; the things we take for granted."

They held each other's hand as they looked across the table at each other. After one last firm squeeze, they let go.

"This conversation has gotten rather heavy," he said.

"Well, what else can we talk about? I can tell you about my mother," she said and grinned.

"Can't you tell me about you?" he asked quietly.

"That might be a heavy conversation as well," was her reply.

"Tell me about you when you were little," he prompted.

"Me as a little girl: I was little," she grinned. "I was about this high," she grinned even more as she held her hand up to about the height of the table. "I adored my grandmother," Liz placed an elbow on the tabletop and leaned a fist on her chin.

"Which one?" asked Fitz.

"My father's mother," she answered. "Nonna. She was a hugger, boy was she a hugger. We were always in her arms, and she would never let go. She was fiddly, made things, sewed things, baked things. I think that was where my father got his tinkering from."

"Are you a tinker..tinkerer? That does not come off the tongue very easily," he smiled his half-smile.

"I am not sure that I am. I haven't quite figured out what I am supposed to do in life. My oldest, that beautiful and perfect sister who is in graduate school; she knows what she wants to do. Beauty _and_ brains. My youngest one, well…besides trying to always wind up Mom because Mom has certain ideas about how girls should behave, she refuses to conform. She is so talented, you should hear her perform."

He sat up a little then, "really, does she act? or what instrument does she play, or does she sing?"

"She actually can do both," said Liz. "She cannot pass a piano without tinkering at it," her eyes brightened. "She likes to sing, has this unusual alto voice. But she is always a little un-directed. I think she needs to meet somebody who will mold her, in a way."

"Interesting, and then there's you," he directed.

"Yup. Then there's me. With my stupid English degree. I should only graduate, and find some guy to marry, and it is up to me to give Mom grandkids because what else do you do with an English degree?" The other hand came up, and she rested her chin in both hands.

"Do women think like that?" he asked.

"Some actually might, but we have moments when Mom… she is so in your face that we joked that one of us needed to distract Mom if the other two were to succeed."

"Succeed, but not the way your mom wished?" he asked.

"I think it is part of our way of deflecting Mom's rather fierce energies. It is a little over-bearing to be Mrs. …" she stopped herself.

"Yes?" he prompted.

"I was about to give something away there," Liz pouted her lips.

"Did your mother ever work?" he asked.

"No and yes. Mom insisted her focus be on us. Always and forever. Most of my friends had both parents work. My roommate, Charlotte, had a mom who worked a great deal. I think I would have preferred _that_ model. It would have been a better one, but in some ways, we seem to be rebelling against, or conforming to, our mother and her focus on family." Her eyes bugged out a little.

"Like your having to leave me in an hour and a half because you have to spend your weekends with your mother?" sighed Fitzwilliam.

"Exactly," said Liz.

"Sure you don't want to go to a charity event this evening? Black tie." His eyes danced.

"No thank you," Liz answered. "Not unless jeans and sneakers are acceptable attire."

Their food arrived, and there were minutes of eating and inquiring of the other about taste, some sharing, _oh you have to try this, not what I expected,_ conversation before they settled back down to taking small enough bites that they could get back to talking.

They moved back to discussing the theater, and began to talk about musical theater. They had moved through the whole historical range of plays and theater; it was difficult once they got to Broadway to not talk musicals. They found they both enjoyed them. The rest of their dinner, they talked of ones they had seen live, ones they had seen on video, and ones they sorely would like to see should they ever be performed locally. Fitz, of course, had seen far more than Liz with her limited funds.

Despite assurances of bad service and being able to linger over dinner, it still was not half past six when they finished their meal. They walked out of the restaurant content with the meal and the conversation.

"I still have time on your clock," Fitz asserted.

"There is no place to go," she answered. They walked out to the parking lot. It had more cars in it now, but was not yet full. Another perk of this restaurant, besides poor service, was that it had parking lot, and they did not have to use a city lot.

He laughed as they walked the rows of cars and came to his own and pointed to the sedan next to his. "You did that deliberately."

"I assumed the only BMW here would be yours," she answered, grinning.

"Ice cream?" he asked. "You need to hit the road, so no drinks. By the time we hit a bar it would be time for you to leave anyway."

"It would probably be time to leave as soon as we got the ice cream," she circled around on his logic.

"True, you cannot get anywhere here quickly, can you?" He sighed and looked down at her.

"No," she shook her head. "I did try; I lingered over dinner."

"There is always sitting like awkward teenagers in a car and talking," he suggested.

"I don't know that I ever sat awkwardly in a car as a teenager," she asserted.

"Were you never an awkward teenager?" Fitz asked.

"I don't think I have ever _stopped_ being an awkward teenager," replied Liz. "I just don't know that I ever sat with a boy in a car."

"I don't think I am a boy anymore," he said, frowning.

"I should hope not," she replied. "I am sure your car is more comfortable than mine," she was warming to the idea. "I have never even touched a Beamer, let alone sat in one." He reached into his pocket and clicked; the doors unlocked. Fitz walked over to the passenger side to hold it open for her. Liz shook her head.

"You don't want to really do it?" Fitzwilliam frowned.

"I thought we were going to act like awkward teenagers," she answered. He noticed a rather wicked grin.

"Yes."

"So why don't we sit in the back seat," Liz suggested.

"I don't know that I have ever been in the back seat of my own car," he replied.

He shut the passenger door, and opened the door behind it. After she crawled in, he went around to the other side and got in, and joined in her laughter. They sat on either side of the back seat of his car, laughing. Liz had started with a small giggle, but she kept going, and raised a hand to her lips, eventually covering her eyes with her elbow because she was laughing so hard. Her embarrassment, yet her delight, and her nervousness, and her excitement were all contagious, and Fitzwilliam found himself laughing equally as hard as they sat as though teenagers, yet in the back seat of a high-end motor vehicle, giggling.

"This is just so unexpected, it's funny," she said.

"Okay, perhaps I just need to let you go on your way," he replied. They straightened themselves and sat then as if on a church pew, looking forward and not at each other.

"What time is it?" Liz asked.

"I don't wear a watch anymore; I usually look at my phone, but it's in my pocket," he answered.

"6:40," she said. Liz had pulled her phone out from somewhere. "Do you suppose watch sales have plummeted now that everyone uses their phone?"

"I suppose so," Fitz said. There was silence between them then.

"Liz," he began.

"Look," she said at the same time.

"No, you go first," Fitzwilliam told her.

She looked at him but then up at the front of the car. "I am…I think I told you…I…I had a relationship that went sour, very sour at the end."

"Yes."

"His dad had a lot of money. He is on track to be the next big shot in town, and it was very painful. I have learned to just not trust guys who can afford cars like this. On principle, I have avoided them and lumped them all into one big puddle."

"And then you get on your rain boots and splash on them," he countered.

Liz laughed. "I like that idea…but I like you too." She moved closer, scooting across the back seat of that car. You would assume it would be awkward, but if teenagers could do it, they too could figure out a way, and they did, to kiss in the back seat of a car.

At first, they merely leaned over, towards one another, their lips finding each other. His hand came out to stroke her hair, and she leaned over to tug at him, her hand found a knee, then her arms moved around him to pull him to her.

His kisses became wilder, advancing beyond those morning kisses, or even that goaded goodbye kiss the previous week. He infused them with everything he felt about her. How much she _thrilled_. How much he enjoyed her company. How much he did not want to let her go when the clock got to the top of the hour.

Their hands were on each other, but their grip finally loosened as her arms relaxed their hold around his shoulders, his relaxed their grip on her waist, and they looked at each other in the dark.

"Time?" Fitz inquired.

"Probably," Liz answered. "My little sister awaits." His hands moved away from her, but she did not relax her grip.

"You need to get out of my car if you are going to go," he suggested.

In turn, she asked, "why don't you get out and escort me to my car?"

"I would never let you drive away," he explained. "But as you said, your sister is waiting for you."

"She just practices the piano until I show up," replied Liz. Her arms tightened around his shoulders.

Fitzwilliam leaned over to capture her lips again, but then he leaned back after a few more kisses. "I still do not want to be the reason you are late for home," he said. "Your mother," he moved slightly away from her.

"Nothing to kill a mood like mentioning my mother," she said. "I will go," Liz moved over to the door.

"You and I can do this again…next Friday?" said Fitz. "Dinner again?"

"Yes," she said. "We will. We will get together again next week."

"Good night, Liz," he said.

"Good night, Fitz," she called as she opened the door.

Fitzwilliam Darcy sat in the back seat of his car lost in thought. If anyone noticed him sitting there and thought it an odd sight, he did not notice while he listened to the sounds of her slamming her car door, starting the engine, and driving away.

He felt lonely and cheated, and did not want to wait for seven more days to spend a few more hours with her. There were the short bursts of time in the morning, but he felt cheated, simply cheated as if playing a card game, or his pocket picked, or having been teased at school, as he finally climbed from the backseat of his BMW, and into the front, to drive home. He would forgo the art auction as it was not where he wanted to be, not the society he wished.

He went home, and slacks be damned, sat cross-legged on the floor with Jack's head in his lap and considered a pair of beautiful eyes, and an equally stunning pair of lips.


	12. How High the Moon

Chapter Twelve

"How High the Moon"

 _There is no moon above  
_ _When love is far away too  
_ _Till it comes true  
_ _That you love me as I love you_

 _Somewhere there's music  
_ _It's where you are  
_ _Somewhere there's heaven  
_ _How near, how far_

Mary did not mention if Liz was late or not, but threw her bags into the car as she always did and said, " _tell me all_."

Liz gave a factual account of her budding relationship with Fitz The Business Man. Mary, in turn, was more forthcoming about her own relationship with Bridget, which had actually been going on since the fall. Bridget was a year older than Mary, a grade above, and as had been mentioned before, was pursuing nursing.

"You seem to talk more about Bridget's major than about Bridget," commented Liz as they sped towards home and their parents. Mary did not immediately answer. Usually she had a sharp retort. Liz wondered if Mary had overdone it that week and was asleep, but a quick glance showed Mary staring straight forward tight-lipped.

"What is weird, or important about Bridget being a nurse?" prompted Liz.

"Mills only has a two-year, pre-nursing program," answered Mary after the road sounds echoed in Liz' ears for a little too long. "She is going to transfer to another school in the fall to finish her B.S., a four-year program."

"What does that mean? Mean for you? Mean for the two of you?" asked the older, concerned sister.

"Mills has a deal with another school, _guaranteed_ admission to a four-year program in nursing," explained Mary.

"Yes..." drawled out Liz.

"The school is in Boston," Mary almost whispered the words.

"What! _Boston_!" cried Liz. "Mom will keel over from heart palpitations. You might as well get on your knees and ask, nay beg me to get pregnant to distract Mom as she will never let you go! You're thinking of going with Bridget, aren't you? I can tell that's why the shyness and the subterfuge. _Boston_!"

"Have you slept with him, this Fitz?" asked Mary, with an abrupt change of subject.

Liz blushed, she knew she did. "No!"

Mary pointed a finger at her. "But you've thought about it! Who's shy now?" That finger poked her arm. "I never thought you would think of having sex again."

"Have you slept with Bridget?" asked Liz.

It was Mary's turn to blush. "Yeah," she called in a long drawn-out syllable that said a lot. Silence reigned again, but this time it was more companionable as they took a few minutes to indulge in a few personal thoughts.

"So we both have sex on the brain, how immature is that," spouted out Liz.

"It's all anyone in our age bracket thinks about," asserted Mary.

"Except Jane," said Liz.

"Yes, except Jane," agreed Mary.

* * *

"Are you going to be able to have everything ready in time?" asked Liz.

"I think so," replied her father. Liz picked up one of the creatures that sat beside him on the workbench. It was a butterfly made of glass; its body segments were made of a large glass ball, its wings were of metal. (2)

"You have blue butterflies and gold butterflies," she said. "The fireflies are so little though. I did not come peek last weekend. They're new. I guess they are meant to be a swarm?" she asked, looking at the creation in his hands, or in pieces before him.

"Yes," he said holding them up. The fireflies splayed out from a base into many smaller wires each with a little bug, a small lightbulb appendage on the end. It was the same setup as the butterfly with solar panels covering the wings to power the bulb.

"How well do they work? I have not seen these guys in action," asked Liz. "Do they twinkle like lightening bugs?"

"I think they are kind of cute," replied her father, who ignored her question as he ran his hands around them. "It's been a little trickier as there are so many, and I still have to run the wires to power them. They are more complicated with having to find a smaller gauge wire to maintain for scale, but one that is tough enough to be weather-proof, and allow me to wire the bulb on the bug."

"There aren't lightening bugs in California, Dad."

"Doesn't mean I can't do a mail order business and folks from areas of the country can order them," he asserted. "Besides, they're pretend! Why can't we have pretend fireflies in our own backyard even if we don't have real fireflies in California?"

"I suppose that's true," she replied. "Have you considered other types of bugs?"

"I was thinking of making honey bees," said her father. "Gold balls with funny little stingers. The wings should be big enough for the cells," he explained.

"Why not ladybugs?" asked Liz.

"Wing issue…no wings on ladybugs, dear. Well, there are, but people associate ladybugs with the red shell, but I need wings to hold the power cells."

"But people love ladybugs and red glass would be pretty, wouldn't it?" she suggested.

"Yes," he put down the jumble of wires and bulbs that was to be a swarm of fireflies, and picked up one of the butterflies. He turned it over in his hands. "Just not sure how I would power it, and keep it looking like a ladybug, dear," he explained.

"You're clever, dad," said Liz. "You can probably think of something."

"However, I am not a magician. I still need to attach solar panels somewhere to power my little bugs," her father sighed, and put down the butterfly.

"For sure, you're going to the Faire this year?" asked Liz.

"Yup, did all the paperwork. It's May 15, 16, 17."

"You realize, Dad, that Jane and I will still be in school. We're on quarter systems."

"You're not going to be booth babes? _You_ are just down the street. You could just take the train up the peninsula from Stanford."

"That's such a derogatory term, _booth babe_ ," Liz clucked her tongue at him.

"Mary will be done," said Mr. Bennet, "so I will have her assured help."

"Don't make Jane drive six hours to help out. Such a nightmare, parking, and people and such," argued Liz.

"It's sort of related to her field though," it was ever his argument; always had been.

"Yes and no," she said. "I know she is looking to find some sort of internship this summer. Practical experience, so don't push too hard on her dad, to help out. Okay?"

"Okay," he assured her.

* * *

Liz had texted her older sister during the week to keep tabs on her, but she walked out of her father's workshop and hit the dial button.

"Hey, I was just wrapping things up and considering dinner," said Jane as she answered.

"Good timing then," explained Liz.

"It's good to hear your voice," Jane said.

"Better week?" asked Liz.

"Yes. I did finally get time with Dr. Ness yesterday to discuss stuff about my TA. He's promised to help sort things out."

"That sounds rather vague, Jane," said Liz.

"Well, it's my word against his," explained Jane.

"No! This does not get to be a he said/she said situation," cried Liz, who felt her face grow hot. "You have a right to feel comfortable while you study, and not be harassed by your teaching assistant to sleep with him, or kiss him, or date him, or even socialize with him. Nor should you worry that your academic standing should be affected by your saying no."

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Jane was one to withdraw from any displays of deep emotion, and had often retreated to her bedroom whenever their mother was having a difficult day or taking Liz or, especially Mary, to task about something.

"I am not good at standing up for myself," Jane finally said.

"I know," soothed Liz, who really wanted to yell instead. " _I know_. You are probably doing the best damn job you can do."

"I am not certain if I will come back in the fall," Jane's voice was almost a whisper. "Maybe it's time I look for a job and start paying off my loans?"

"What about the award you received at the end of your undergraduate year? Can you somehow finagle that, and what you've done in graduate school, and find the perfect job? You usually land on your feet."

"Turbine design. I just tweaked a rotor a little bit." Liz could see Jane's face blushing before her.

"Maybe you know it all and it's time those idiots recognized the brilliance of your brain, and paid you your worth instead of attempting to take credit, or take your clothes off," growled Liz.

"Liz! It has never been so blatant," cried Jane.

"That's the trouble. They just nip away at you, and you don't realize it until you really are wounded, bleeding."

"Why are you so spot-on about this?" asked Jane. "But yes, they have worn me down."

Liz sighed, but moved on. " _Otherwise_ , how are you? We're all holding up here with three squares a day, and Dad hiding in his shop. He's plans for the Maker Faire again this year, so be sure and tell him a big no when he asks you to help."

"I can't tell dad no," said Jane.

"Sure you can when it means leaving on a Thursday morning and not getting back until Monday. Too much school to miss," pointed out Liz.

"It's the one thing that keeps Dad going now, his little workshop, and his mechanical bugs," said Jane. Her voice had changed to its loving, motherly tone. "He needs all the support we can give him."

"No, he…Jane," Liz clicked her tongue and sighed. "We have different views and expectations about our parents. I won't argue with you. You have the most loving and forgiving heart. But don't come home in May for the Faire!" Liz tried to growl, but found she could not, not really, when speaking to Jane.

"It would be better _then_ than on my birthday at the end of May, which is too close to finals," argued Jane.

"Touché," replied Liz, ready to sign off.

"Liz!" called her big sister. "Your…friend? Did you see him again?"

"Ummm," said a voice caught off-guard. "Yes."

"How did it go? Less stalker-y?"

"What a way to put it! Thanks big sis for ruining the mood," cried Liz. "You're the one who told me he was stalking me. I had no concept or idea until you suggested it."

"Well?" Jane was not going to give up.

"We had dinner, then we sat in his car and kissed until I went to get Mary. End of story." There was silence again on the other end of the phone, but not because someone in the Bennet family was being too emotional. Liz knew she had concerned Jane. "What do you object to about kissing in a car?"

"Nothing, but why can't you do things, _normally_?" asked Jane.

"What is normal Jane? Normal college students live in dorms, and don't have to drive home to see their mothers every weekend. He's remarkably accommodating, my Fitz. We had to eat dinner early so I could hit the road. In fact, he was going out later to a black tie affair, he told me. Some swanky art auction. If I was normal, I should have gone to _that,_ with him, instead of sneaking off to dinner at four in the afternoon so we would have time to talk before _coming home to my mother_ ," she ended speaking through rather clenched teeth.

"It just sounds like…your worlds are so different. He had dinner with you; sat in a car kissing….then he went out to a black tie affair?"

"It is not like you to be so concerned," said Liz.

"I am just worried, Liz. There was practically nothing left of you when the Merrittons walked away from our family."

"Jane. I'll be fine. It's early days. And the past dissipates when I am with him, it no longer matters. I cannot use Kevin Merriton as a shield or an excuse; I cannot explain how someone has gotten past my defenses, but _he has._ And with both of our rigid schedules it gives me a structure to begin to build some…trust, I think."

"He's a trustworthy guy?" asked Jane.

"No, I mean _trust myself_ this time and with this guy, when I have not with all my other dates in the past three years," explained Liz.

"I think I see, but maybe I don't," she could imagine Jane shaking her head.

"It's the difference between what you are thinking and what your heart says, and you realize that maybe they can work together even if they don't always agree."

"I am an engineer not a philosopher," said Jane. "But I think I understand." There was another long pause. "Have you slept with him yet?"

"Jane!" cried Liz. "That is not the type of question you usually ask."

"Well, it is on my mind."

"Why? Why would sex be on your mind?" Liz was flabbergasted.

"Because you seem so…smitten with this Fitz. And sex can be a perfectly wonderful expression of…smitten-ness."

"That is not even a word! As an English major I am appalled and take exception," cried Liz. "You are dancing around the word _lust_ , aren't you?"

"No," said Jane. "I was dancing around the word… _love_."

It was silent again, though the air between them was tense, despite their talking on the phone. There were ambient sounds around her, then she listened and watched as an airplane flew overhead.

"Airplane," Liz said at last. "And no, I am not in love. I am reserving love for my thirties. Best you can get when you date Liz Bennet is indifference or a little lust if you happen to be a tall, rich guy named Fitz something or other."

"I feel sorry for anyone who dates _Liz Bennet_ ," said her older sister, "when they could date _Elisa Vittoria Bennet_."

"Please 'splain," quipped Liz.

"Dad, you're dad. Even-keeled Tom, but cross him, and there is Tomaso Antonino Bennet with his fierce independence and passion for family and his projects. He may not have been good at business, Ms. Elisa Bennet, but his spirit is Nonna's spirit."

"Don't make me cry," said Liz.

"I don't lecture well, that's mom's job," said Jane. "But don't forget, you're a little Italiana."

"I'm not short!" cried Liz.

"You and your dad jokes," laughed Jane. "And you're not short. I know you hate that you look more like mom, but you have dad's spirit and Nonna's spirit."

" _I will_ cry now. I miss her every day."

"Besides, I am starving! You are interrupting my own dinner and you, at least, get mom's fantastic cooking while I am only _stopping somewhere_ ," said Jane.

"Ciao," called Liz.

"Ciao," said Jane.

* * *

Saturday he worked. It was a routine he could not entirely give up: there was always something to do or to read. Emails to return or phone calls to at listen to, even if it was not possible to return them. But Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy called it a day when he went to eat his lunch.

He padded with bare feet into the kitchen and found his sister's dog at his feet.

"I am sure you've been fed already," he assured Cherie, but she dutifully followed him from cupboard to fridge to counter, ever the optimist.

After his meal, Fitz lay down on the couch, just under the windows in the family room, and called his sister.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"I am so ready for spring break," she answered. "I have too much due next week. I am not sure I will survive."

"You'll do well," he assured her.

"Just what I expected you to say," she said bitterly.

"What? Should I expect you to fail?" he said.

"No…I just hate all the rah rah rah stuff from you and the aunties. Aunt Kate called me this morning and woke me up."

"Not a good way to wake up," he agreed.

"No," she groaned. "She just had her usual say about my worthlessness in moving away—abandoning the family by being so far from her reach."

"Don't listen to her. Your old school didn't suit you. Changing schools was the best move for you," he asserted. "You all ready for your trip to Florida?"

"Yeah. Katy and I are ready, like I said. Allison couldn't pull the money together, so she isn't going."

"Should be fun for you," he replied, "once you get through next week."

"That doesn't sound quite like you," said Georgie whose voice sounded distrustful.

"You need to enjoy yourself while you're in college," he said.

"Again, you're acting weird, Mason," said his sister.

"I am trying to be less…grumpy," he said. "Less fatherly and just a brother."

"Hm, weird." She coughed, though he could not tell if it was real or a fake to cover some embarrassment of her own. "I think I am going to do like you suggested and just take an art class. I wouldn't be doing anything until the fall since I don't think I want to go to summer school." She coughed again. "I want to come home for the summer, is that okay?" she asked in a rushed breath.

"This is your house too," he said.

"Okay." She said. "So I will be home again when the semester ends, hang out or get a job, find something to do. Then I will go back to Texas in the fall."

* * *

Fitz searched for boat racing because she had mentioned it. There were, as there always were, a lot of search hits, but he found there was a yacht racing association website for the Bay Area. He dutifully poked around on it, reading about many of the events.

There were weekend events which seemed like family-oriented ones to sail around various points in the Bay. Then there were events for the far more serious-minded sailor, competitive, test-your-mettle races in the Bay and even ones out in the open sea. But first off, he needed a boat, and he needed to know how to sail, and he wondered why he was even looking all of this up.

Because Liz had mentioned it.

She had suggested boat racing, so he had looked it up. His father had played golf, the tried and true rich guy sport which enabled deals to be worked out between holes, but Fitzwilliam had not wanted to learn as he had not wanted to follow entirely in his father's footsteps.

Perhaps he might be a weekend sailor. Learn to sail and be able to take a certain dog walker with him: think of a long weekend with Liz by his side. Or even just an overnight with Liz by his side, just the two of them in the confined space of a boat hull. But boat racing was really not an attractive option to him.

Liz was in college, a point she often made and used as her defense against having more than ten minutes here or two hours there for him. When did the damned semester end? It was March; she was probably not done until May, like Georgie was. But did Liz get a spring break? Would she spare him any extra time, or did she only use it to catch up on her reading and writing and dog walking? He wondered if he was to ever fit into this college student's life.

He did stop considering boat racing as a weekend activity, especially when she texted him. It was a simple back and forth inquiry about their day which got cut short when she indicated her mother needed her. But it was a small step forward.

* * *

(2) Kudos to my friends T** and A** for being the type to actually quit their day job and pursue what they love. The idea for these solar-powered garden bugs is _their_ creation. They got away from Silicon Valley craziness and have found utter happiness with each other and various home-based, crafty business pursuits.


	13. Trust in Me

Chapter Thirteen

"Trust in Me"

 _Why don't you trust in me in all you do?  
_ _Have the faith that I... I have in you  
_ _Oh And love will see us through, if only you trust in me Yeah...Yeah Yeah  
_ _Why don't you come to me, when things go wrong, cling to me and woh,  
_ _And I'll be strong  
_ _We can get along, we can get along oh, if only you trust in me..._

Monday, he ran again rather than walking the dogs. Fitz felt that he needed the exercise though he knew he would be sweaty. He reached that meeting point and saw Liz.

"No dogs," she called.

"Hi," he said but could not help but say, "you look good."

"Thanks," she replied.

Liz felt a compunction to argue with him that the light was dim, and she was not dressed in her best clothes, that her hair up, but she accepted the compliment. They shared more details about their weekends, but there really was nothing in particular about those weekends to share. No fine point that had to be honed beyond the fact that _she_ had been at her parent's house, and _he_ had been at home. They both considered how much their thoughts had been on the other, but neither of them said that. Then it was time to part.

Monday morning at work, Fitzwilliam was aloof with Alex when she came into the office. He kept his door partially closed to discourage interactions as he waited to speak to his human resources manager (known simply as Mrs. P.) about his assistant. Alejandra was her ever-busy self, and Fitz could hear the constant sounds of activity. It was almost as if she were being deliberate with her actions so he would notice her.

At ten he went to talk to HR about Alex. Though the company had an at-will policy it did not mean he could 'let her go,' without truly having cause to do so; the state employment laws were against him. Ms. P. suggested a number of changes, such as restricting her access to his computer, and ensuring she no longer had access to his house.

Bob Richardson sent him a calendar reminder about lunch and then a text to follow-up about it as well.

 _EASTER_ it said in all caps.

Fitz dutifully accepted the lunch invitation. He was surprised that his ever-efficient PA had not accepted it on his behalf since she was usually on top of such things. When he opened the door, he noticed that she was not at her desk. He wondered if HR was talking to her. Alex was not normally one to be away from her desk.

Bob was looking a little tired as though Mondays wore him out when he came by to pick up Fitzwilliam.

"I though the weekends refreshed you," commented Fitzwilliam as he locked his door.

"Well, not everything goes my way, let's just say," replied Bob as they made their way to the elevator. Bob drove. He always drove.

"You don't ever get your conquests in the back seat do you?" asked Fitz as casually as he could.

Bob looked quizzically at his cousin. "Have you seen the size of my back seat? Porsches don't _have_ back seats."

"I suppose it is small," said Fitz. "The car then?"

"I have a perfectly proportioned bed at home," said Bob. "Why would I want to attempt to maneuver in a car? Brain tumor, Mason, I am beginning to suspect a brain tumor."

Bob avoided the unpleasant topic of Aunt Kate and Easter until after they had ordered by relating anecdotes of various people he had met at various parties. Fitzwilliam was again amazed at how social his cousin was compared to him. His own social life was limited to the events he paid to attend, but Bob seemed to be invited to parties without a price tag for entrance, and which had included a cross-section of people. And even those outside of their business with college professors, venture capitalists, chemists, people in software, even hospitality and construction workers.

"So, Mason...Aunt Kate's Easter dinner." Bob's hand began to play a tune on the table.

"I don't know why we keep going, honestly," said Fitz.

"I don't know why either," sighed Bob. "It is like we are two naughty school boys who have been hauled in and set on time out."

"I was never that…naughty," asserted Fitzwilliam. "It was always you."

"The odd thing was, it was always Anne who misbehaved more than you or I, and Aunt Kate never noticed."

"Well, it was her own daughter; she could do no wrong," Fitz pointed out.

"Damn, I wish it wasn't lunch," said Bob, "I could do with a drink. Just talking about her makes me want to…" his other hand came up to play on the table.

"What you need is a keyboard," suggested his cousin.

"Yeah."

"Why don't you get one for your office? You don't have to plug it in, an electronic one, and you could at least play the keys then," suggested Fitz.

"I never thought of that," said Bob. "That might help relieve the tension of working at a job I hate."

"You know," and Fitzwilliam considered bringing up a subject he had not planned to discuss quite yet, "we both seem to be at a crossroads with our jobs, this company. We both inherited from parents who were passionate about it, but I am not sure if we share our parents' passion for continuing on."

Bob was silent a long time. "Mom would kill me," he finally said. "Aunt Kate would just die if we didn't _continue the vision_."

"At what point do we stop and get out from underneath our parents' thumbs though?" argued Fitzwilliam.

Again there was silence. "We know that Aunt Kate is going to beg and beg and beg us to put her on the board of directors like she always does," said Bob. "Especially since Anne is out of the country for lord knows how long. We thought Aunt Kate would relent when we put Anne on the board, because we knew Anne would only be a token member as she couldn't be bothered."

"You know, it is not quite fair to the company," said Fitz, "to have someone on the board who has so little interest in the company."

"I know, but we are playing politics here, Mason," remarked Bob. "It is either Anne and her complete indifference or Aunt Kate and her… _ideas_." He blew out a rather pronounced and dramatic breath. "Any luck in Georgie showing any interest in energy?"

"No," said Fitz. "I have her talked into staying with biology when she was ready to change majors if not schools again, and to try art. So, a moving target. She is doing well with biology; I am hoping that will be the thing that grounds her."

"What is she going to do with biology?" asked Bob.

"Look, that is just _not_ the question to ask right now. Georgie has years to decide what to do. Look at Anne. She is what, nine or ten years past her degree, and she hasn't decided what to do, and hasn't found a job either. Georgie still hasn't quite gotten over losing Mom. I am sure if Dad hadn't been such a bastard it would have been a modicum easier for her to cope with Mom dying from cancer."

"Yes, your Dad was a bastard," agreed Bob.

"Agreed," said Fitzwilliam.

"You have my sympathy," sighed Bob. "Mine just walked out. At least Mom had the wherewithal to divorce him before she became rich and famous."

"I didn't know Aunt Ellen was famous," said Fitz.

"Okay, _rich_. Enough heavy stuff," he slapped the table. "So we fly down for Easter. We ignore Aunt Kate's hints about being on the board and everything is status quo," said Bob.

"That's what we do every year," said Fitzwilliam. "I don't know that it is making us any happier. I, at least, somewhat enjoy working; I like my job."

"You're an idiot," said Bob. "Brain tumor."

"Whereas you don't."

"I hate my job." It was Bob's catch-phrase.

"Charles has been on board for two weeks now," began Fitzwilliam.

"Yeah. He's a chatty and sociable kind of guy isn't he? I'd take him out with me, but I fear I would have competition because of that damned accent."

"I don't think you need to worry. You guys work in different ways," placated Fitz. He looked Robert Richardson, Pemberley Energy's CFO fully in the eyes. "I am wondering if you want to sell out?"

Silence again. It was a really long silence. The waiter came to check on them, and they took more mouthfuls of food while Bob Richardson thought of selling out and doing something entirely different. "I can only think," Bob finally said. "That you must be in love, and you've got this whole new outlook on life, and have you slept with her yet?"

Fitz's hands stilled in the act of stabbing a bite of food. "That's not quite where I thought our conversation was going."

"You just wanted to talk about me and not you," asserted Bob.

"No, I wanted to talk about the company and staving off Aunt Kate's annual takeover bid."

"I can well imagine not working," said Bob. "I play the keyboard often enough and always fiddle with my guitar, but I think I am losing my lip, and am losing my callouses too, as I don't play the sax or violin nearly often enough." He looked his cousin rather pointedly in the eye. "You're thinking, you're really thinking that Bingley has the interest and the money to buy me out?"

"He's a little unsettled, shall we say. A fish out of water, a Brit living in California. He is still warming to Silicon Valley, but I think he stayed here to go to grad school because he _likes_ it here and doesn't want to go home. He talked about having a rather sour relationship with an older sister, his parents are both gone—there's only a grandmother left."

"Wow. I could play all day." Fitzwilliam could see the concept take hold in his cousin's eyes.

"You know, my Liz has a sister she swears should major in music she's so good. She plays _and_ sings," explained Fitz.

"Your Liz, huh," said Bob. "A sister! And she's musical, hmmm. Is she pretty?"

"She's gay."

"Why the fuck are you telling me this?" exclaimed Bob.

"I don't know, it just popped into my head," Fitz pushed his plate away from him.

"Apparently your Liz is in your head a lot," said Bob.

"Yes she is."

"So, have you slept with her yet?"

"Stop asking me," Fitz growled.

"You haven't then, otherwise you would fess up," said Bob. "You do remember how it works?"

"Shut up, Bob," said Fitz.

His cousin grinned at him. "I am sure you will remember when the time comes. Like riding a horse."

"I don't know that I have ever been on horseback," replied Fitzwilliam.

"Well then, maybe it isn't going to go so smoothly for you after all," predicted Bob.

* * *

Fitzwilliam could tell Alex was mad. He heard every little sound she made, every movement, shift in her chair, drawer closing, cup thumping down on her desk, they all reverberated into his room. While he could not out-right fire her, Ms. P. had said, they needed, as a company, to cover their bases (and document her 'offenses'), and begin to ensure there was a separation of responsibilities and that Alex knew where her job duties ended. They were to be clearly delineated.

Any unnecessary access she might have to F. Mason Darcy's computer, phone, or work equipment was also defined and controlled. Her access to his email had been axed, and though she could see his calendar, Alejandra could no longer automatically approve appointments. They only showed as pending now, not approved or denied. She did not have access to his periphery devices either.

He had been told to change the codes for his gate, his garage, and anything else at his house she might have had access to. Fitzwilliam wondered that he had not thought about that right away. But he had been distracted because he was due to go out with Liz; his thoughts had been of dinner and their time together.

But he worried about Yvonne and Mike and Derek then. He had not considered what would happen if Alex truly became a disgruntled employee. Yvonne was not employed by his company but employed personally, by him. He cared a great deal for her and her family since she had seen him and Georgie through many difficult years. He did not want Alex showing up at the house again. He recalled times when his PA had contacted Yvonne. How could something like attending a charity event and not wishing to appear solo (pathetically solo) that he brought his assistant gotten him into trouble?

* * *

He walked the dogs again the next morning. Liz was not on the street with her posse of dogs for the first time to greet him. Fitzwilliam wondered if it was because of daylight savings time which had just begun on Sunday. It was dark again, like nighttime despite the clock saying 'morning.' He waited for what felt like ten minutes—but his phone only said it had been three—before he texted her.

 _Are you on your way?_

There was a long pause before she answered. _Tired. Time change issues. Running late._

 _How late?_ He replied _._

 _Don't wait._ He stared at those words and frowned. He felt cheated again. They only had their ten minutes in the morning; he did not want to be denied his treat.

 _Can we have lunch since I won't see you?_ He texted.

Her reply was: _My busy day. Class 10:30 am to 9:00 pm_

He understood, even if he still felt swindled.

 _OK, see you tomorrow_

 _Ciao_

He and the two dogs made their way, at a slower pace than normal, back home.

After his shower, he found Derek running around in circles downstairs. The boy had finished eating and appeared to be imitating an airplane with his arms out wide. Fitzwilliam sat down to his breakfast.

"Derek asked for waffles; I hope you don't mind," said Yvonne.

"I don't mind," answered Fitz. He looked again at the young boy. "How is it that the time change has not affected him?"

"He will probably crash this afternoon. But kids are resilient," she answered, and handed him both his coffee mug and his travel mug.

"I'm not sure Georgie was so resilient," he said.

"She was, Mason. She is," cried Yvonne. "You have to give her a lot of credit. Look at the big picture. She did well in high school, has done well in college. Has not turned to drugs, did not drop out. _Sure_ she had hiccups, but we all have times when we falter. Georgie is really put-together." Yvonne leaned her body against the counter.

He put down his fork to look at Yvonne. "Truly? I still worry about her."

"Yes. I know, but let her be. She calls me too, you know. And she's a young woman exploring the world, out from under the guidance of both of us: her substitute parents. But she'll do okay."

"The amount of tears and emails and phone calls last year because she fell in love then realized she had a boy who was cheating on her made me quite concerned," he explained.

" _You_ had it easy in college, I am sure. Both your parents were around, and you had nothing to worry you. You probably fell in and out of love without considering whether it was a life or death situation," said Yvonne. "For Georgie, having someone reject her for the first time had more serious consequences, but she got past that," Yvonne explained as she rubbed her pregnant belly like she always did if stationary, "even if she also did it a little dramatically with changing schools. Rich girl's prerogative there." She smiled.

He looked at his housekeeper and nodded at her wisdom, then shook his head considering how happy and carefree he had been his first year of college. He had had no concerns and had been a rich man's son, one who did not have to work, but merely attended class. His mother had been diagnosed with cancer his second year, though his parents had hidden that fact for months until her treatment had begun to take a toll on her body. But Amy Darcy had ever been the optimist, and assured him she would beat the odds and not let ovarian cancer take her.

"I just took Bob to task for not giving Georgie enough credit. I didn't think I needed to do the same thing with me," he said to Yvonne. "But you're right. She _is_ doing well. Her calls to me are not so much that she needs help, but that she is just…reaching out."

"She loves you, Mason," said Yvonne. "You're family."

"You are worth your weight in gold, Yvonne," he said.

"Any time, Mason."

"How much more time until the newest little guy comes?" he asked.

"Three weeks, just around Easter," she replied.

"You sure two months off is enough time?"

"I know you will give me more time if I need it. And since you're giving me full pay, it doesn't make a difference when I come back," she answered.

"My menu will be different, but I think I know how to wash my own socks," he replied. "And that cleaning service can handle whatever mess I make."

"You have to be home to make a mess," she pushed herself back from the counter, but kept rubbing her belly.

"I have been home more," he said.

"I noticed," she replied, glanced over at Derek who had stopped his running around and was petting Jack. "Can I ask about her?"

Mason did not answer right away and pressed his lips together.

"It is why I have seen you more often, coming home to shower and shave, because you have a date?" she pressed.

"We have only had two dates," he answered.

"Two dates is more dates than you have had in probably the last three or four years," she said.

"Are you keeping track of me?" he asked.

"Of course I am," she teased. "If I am Georgie's substitute mom, I am _your_ substitute mom as well."

"Um, I think you only have a year or two on me," he pointed out.

"That doesn't matter. I am a mother, so I can be everyone's substitute mom now. I have the credentials," she explained.

"I like her," he offered.

"That is all you're going to say: you like her?" asked Yvonne.

"I'm smitten?" he smiled then.

"That's a little bit better. That last one was pretty darn wicked. This one's not another society girl is she?" Yvonne shook her head.

"How do you keep track of all of this?" he asked.

"I have lived in your house for seven years, Mason. People need to understand and pay attention to the other people around them and not take them for granted."

"I never really talked about…well the last one. She is just an ugly blemish at this point in time." He frowned, but then looked more at Yvonne. "And I hope I never take you for granted."

"That Claire was nice," prompted Yvonne.

"Claire was nice, yes," he agreed.

"But again," said Yvonne, "she didn't keep your interest?"

"Yvonne, I am so crazy about this one, but I am just so worried that something is going to happen," he blurted out. "We are so different that…she is not from my world."

"What do you mean?" there was a worried note to her voice.

"She is a dog walker," he said.

There were lights and bells going off in her eyes and mind. "That explains your morning routine _a lot_."

"She is also a college student."

"That's a little young Mason; you are getting on in years." She straightened, her hand fell from her belly, and Yvonne looked him fully in the eyes.

"I worry about that actually. She doesn't have time for me because she is always in class."

"Well you never had time for anybody because you were always at work, have you ever considered _that_? Maybe your poor luck before with women is because you never bothered to make time for them—you were married to your work," suggested Yvonne.

"But I am making time for _her_. I am just not sure she is making time for _me_ ," he said.

"Well, if you have only had two dates, it is very early," she placated.

"I only get an hour or two a week with her. And it's driving me crazy."

"I think this is good for you. You want something, and for the first time in years you have something besides work to distract you…and Derek Reynolds stop jumping on Mr. Mason's couch!" she called to her son.

"Sorry Mr. Mason," came a little voice.

"I don't mind," said Fitz. "I rarely use the darn thing."

"Yeah, but then he comes home and jumps on _my_ couch," said Yvonne. "But oh my gosh we have been talking far too long! I need to get him to school, and thanks for taking the dogs this morning. And you, I suppose, can waltz into work whenever you like, Mr. Business Owner."

"It doesn't quite work that way," he said. "But thanks for the insight, about Georgie."

"You're welcome," and she whisked her son out the door to their little cottage behind, so they could gather Derek's things and run off to school.

Fitz could not help but pull up that text from Liz. She had class from 10:30 in the morning until 9:00 at night. He still thought that was one similarity which they shared. They knuckled under and worked hard. But he thought about Yvonne's words. Her concern that maybe they might be too different. He had been out of school for so long, been in the working world for quite a long time. He realized he did not know how old she was. What year in school she was, or where she went to school. Given the caliber of the courses she was taking; he thought she must almost be done with school. Twenty-one or twenty-two. _How stupid am I to be involved with this woman that I know so little about?_

* * *

He did have a rather busy morning of it. It was interesting that coming in a half hour later than usual meant he fell behind, and there were those darn airplane tickets to book. Normally, he would have asked Alex to handle them for him. But since it was more personal than business (even though they would discuss company business during the visit), he felt he did not want to pass those on to Alex. He would need to book them himself. But he needed to handle returning a number of phone calls, emails, and speaking to a number of people, including Charles Bingley who swung by.

Charles had a list of things to discuss, including hiring new staff to work on Charles' expanded vision for windmill design. Fitzwilliam had to rein him in, and discuss business issues such as cash flow, annual budgets, and the way that employment worked which seemed to mystify Mr. Charles Bingley, _visionary_.

They discussed that perhaps hiring a paid intern might be Charles' best bet. Fitz had to let his friend walk away feeling disappointed because he had been so gung ho about getting people in to work, and had left feeling almost crushed that his friend Mason Darcy did not have a magic wand to wave to produce both the resources and the manpower to give him what he wanted.

Fitzwilliam realized that maybe he had been premature in considering proposing to Charles that he buyout Bob Richardson. There was a difference between being a visionary of a product and having the know-how to run a company. But you could learn how to run a company.

What you could not learn was how to be clever and how to think outside of the box: which was why Charles was on board. You could not falter, you could not stop innovating. You could never rest on your laurels and say _we have done enough, we are going to stay here; you, the customer, should be happy with our product,_ and not keep trying to improve, or find new ways, or cheaper ways to improve the product.

That had been one of the reasons he pulled Charles in, the enthusiasm that his friend had. Fitz had seen that in other companies. Managers who decided _okay, this is good_ , then ten years down the road they wondered why they weren't making enough money and had to lay off people, then there weren't enough people to do what was needed, and it became a downward spiral. The company became the subject of a hostile takeover, or they had to solicit a former rival to buy them out for pennies on the dollar.

Suddenly, everybody in the company was saying goodbye because it was being broken up for scrap, the company bought for the patents, the people were all laid off, and what had been a thriving company five years before, no longer existed. Everyone who had happily lunched together, now only sent funny messages to each other on Facebook.

Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy had to always keep going and to consider new innovations and new pathways if Pemberley Energy was to succeed another twenty years.


	14. You Go To My Head

Chapter Fourteen

"You Go to My Head"

 _You intoxicate my soul with your eyes  
_ _Though I'm certain that this heart of mine  
_ _Hasn't a ghost of a chance in this crazy romance  
_ _You go to my head  
_ _You go to my head_

Liz was so tired. She had apologized profusely to her clients for being late in picking up the dogs. Her Aunt Alice asserted that jet lag was always worse the second day. There was something about the change to Daylight Saving Time that always hit her harder the second day than the first. Having that Monday night class was difficult enough but that it was her least favorite class, writing for video games, made it worse. Then to get up to walk the dogs and know it was her longest day of the week had not motivated her to get out of bed. Liz had, uncharacteristically, hit the snooze alarm because she needed ten more minutes. Then she needed ten more minutes again before she was able to function.

Fitz had texted her while she was still driving. She did not reply until she reached Prince Rudolph's house. She realized how very late she was and that she would not see him that morning. Liz did not want him to wait for her and be late himself. But she would miss him.

Her day just dragged, and half hour breaks between courses were not sufficient time for her. Even though she loved the short story writing class on Tuesday night, she found her eyes drooping. The professor seemed to take pity on them. He said "nobody is paying attention, no one has anything to share tonight," and a little after eight, he sent them home rather than making them all wait until 8:40. A kindness that made her so grateful that she went straight home and collapsed into bed without tackling any schoolwork.

Liz had a heck of a time dragging herself up the next morning, despite being able to get to bed early. But there was a reason, besides just a financial one, for getting up. It was her short day; she could nap if need be. But she would see Fitz.

She was nervous; Liz was nervous as she walked from the Watsons with Orion and Sirius straining at their leads to greet Cherie and Benny who scarpered around waiting for the two Jack Russells. Cherie yipped at the matched pair. They all seemed to act as if they had never met before. The small dog acted as though larger and more important than the other two. Benny came over to Liz to plead with her as though asking Liz to intervene. She pushed the button to reel back the two Jack Russells though Cherie kept barking.

"She's really a demon in disguise," said Fitz. "You think you know her, and then she goes for your ankles," he explained.

"But Benny," Liz called down, "you are a good dog!"

"Yes Benny, you are the best," said Fitz. Benny glowed, looking from one to the other. "I wonder if the time change affects the dogs?" asked Fitzwilliam.

"I am of two minds about that," said Liz as they attempted to disentangle the dogs. There had been no good morning kiss as Cherie still seemed inclined to growl or bark at anyone or any dog who got too close. "I think perhaps dogs do suffer from it, like we do, getting up an hour early on Monday…" she explained. "I imagine for dogs, it must be the same. However, they are creatures ruled by their stomachs. If they get fed an hour earlier then, so be it. They are more than happy to accept the grub because I know, in the fall; they do not take kindly to waiting once daylight savings time ends to eat an hour later."

"I think you're right," said Fitzwilliam as he walked beside her. Cherie had finally stopped her posturing and was running ahead, tugging at the leash as though in competition now with Benny as to who could be first in line. Fitz had held both leashes in one hand, but the pull on one hand was such that he separated them and decided to put a leash in each hand, particularly as he did not get his kiss.

"Fitz…" called Liz over to him.

"Yes?" he said with reluctance. He was still feeling a little cheated in not seeing her the day before, and realizing that with her busy schedule, being a college student, it meant he really was not going to be able to see much of her. He would probably need to learn to live with feeling burned or short-changed. He was feeling morose enough that Fitz was anticipating that Liz had some school-related reason she would use to call off their agreed-upon dinner on Friday.

"I don't know that I can afford to pay for a dinner where we can talk and linger," she began.

"Liz…" he started.

"Hold on," she interrupted. He was ready to argue that money was no object when it came to paying for dinners if it meant time together, but he stopped speaking and looked at her in the dim light.

"I think that my budget does extend to ingredients if I cook dinner," she said. Liz said nothing else. There was no further comment. There was not the verbal invitation that she was asking him over to her house where she would cook this dinner for him. He wondered if her hesitancy with continuing was because of that past or if there was something else.

"Your place or mine?" he finally asked.

"Mine…is that okay?" she sounded hesitant.

"Lovely," he assured her.

"Um…I don't have to go to Mom and Dad's this weekend. So I have time to linger," she assured him.

"Oh!" he replied as the picture inside his head of Friday morphed and changed. "So no clock?"

"Yes," she answered. "No clock tolling the time and saying _I have to leave…I have to be somewhere._ We can linger."

There was something about the way she said those words. She had explained last Friday about Shakespeare. You could not just read Shakespeare; you needed to _hear_ the words. She had discussed those six words from A Midsummer Night's Dream. He felt a bubble of something burst up from his gut when she had said these three: 'we can linger.' There was happiness, there was joy; he was hard pressed to not say there was love that knocked around inside of him.

He had only known this woman for three and a half weeks. "I look forward to lingering," he said.

It was a little awkward then, as if there was something new between them; they had turned a corner. He wished he could hold her hand or be able to express to her his joy and anticipation of Friday. But that morning, they both had their hands full.

At their corner, he tried to move closer but Cherie was not having any of it. If he got close to Liz it meant Cherie got close to Liz' posse and it set the dog off again, barking wildly and aggressively. He merely looked at her with sad eyes. "I will leave her at home tomorrow."

"Good idea," she said.

"Bye Liz," he called.

"Bye, Fitz," she said.

Thoughts about Friday crowded his mind. They took hold of him as he sat through a meeting, nodded his head, stared up at slides, and could not truly take in the content presented to him—despite enthusiasm on the speaker's part. 'We can linger.' He felt as if he had won a prize. He was a little boy who did well in school and had been praised by both the teacher and his parents, or was that how people felt if they won the lottery, or how a husband felt if his wife told him she was pregnant? He was excited.

 _We can linger._

* * *

Alejandra Carlyle did not know what had happened to her life. She had A Plan: she did not know what had happened to her plan. She liked her lists. Lists of Clothes She Owned. Clothes She Wanted, especially shoes. Lists of VC companies, Their Owners and Partners. Who was married or not, their ages and relative net worth (especially those with a net worth over fifty million—in those cases, she did not care about marital status).

But in particular, she liked things like wish lists. She loved the wish lists on Amazon where you could shop for almost anything in the world, available from almost any place in the world, and have all of it delivered. Be Specific about What You Want. There was no more having others guess what they wanted to give her as a present; she could specify what she wished for. There were still those who would deviate off of her list though, which was intolerable. There had to be nothing more irritating in the world than someone who could not pay attention to directions. Alex would rather not receive a gift than have someone think they were being thoughtful and _deviate from the list._

She had truly believed that she would have landed a rich fish by the time she was twenty-five, which was tomorrow. She thought she was doing so well with Mason Darcy and then somehow, in the last month, everything went all wrong.

Alex sat there fuming when Bob Richardson came sailing up with a bag from a fast food chain in one hand.

"Woah," she called out. "Door closed," she barked and pointed at Mason's door.

"But it's me!" he grinned and walked right past her desk, the greasy smell of French fries wafting at her, and she thought she would be sick. Could nothing go her way? Now she had to have fried food lingering in her area as Bob opened and shut her boss' door.

Fitzwilliam looked up when Bob walked into his office.

"What the fuck is going on?" asked Bob.

"Excuse me?" called Fitz as he looked at his cousin.

Bob came over to put the bag on his desk. "I got you a burger and fries."

"No drink?" teased Fitz. Bob was already sitting in a chair looking at him. "That meeting with the solar team: you were like a deer in the headlight when Jeanine made her presentation, and _I thought_ she did a rather good job."

"What do you mean?" asked Fitzwilliam as he took out the hamburger then looked further into the bag and pulled out the fries. "Yum, I love these fries."

"Tsk, they are probably a thousand calories, but since you go jogging or dog walking every morning…" he pointed his finger at him then snapped them. "I think that accounts for the dazed look. So she spent the night last night, huh?"

Fitzwilliam had been in the act of taking a bite of the burger but he lowered it. "Why are you so obsessed with my sex life?" Then he bit into the burger.

Bob leaned his elbows on the desk and picked through the fries making a show of it so it looked like he was stealing the best of them from the pile. "The thing is, Mason, I don't think we are talking about your sex life anymore."

Fitz looked at him. "What?"

"I think," Bob had a very long fry which he nibbled as though some hick chewing on a hay seed, dispensing advice, "I think we are talking about your love life now."

Fitzwilliam took another bite of his burger, chewed, then said, "what do you know about a love life?"

"The thing is, I write an awful lot of songs…music!" he called in a rather jaunty and sing/song voice. "A lot of them are about love."

"That's rich coming from you!"

"Okay, my hobby may be sex, but maybe I am looking for love in all the wrong places?" Bob shook his head.

"I think someone has already written that song," said Fitzwilliam.

"I think you're right," answered Bob Richardson his cousin, his nemesis, his confessor and his adviser (it seems) both about the company and about his life. "But you were somewhere else this morning during that meeting, I am just saying. Given all the little hints and things like that, I am intrigued to meet this one, and I just don't know why you can't give me daily updates."

"So…we have another date on Friday. That just seems to be about the way things go," said Fitzwilliam Darcy. For all that it would be nice to talk to someone, Fitz was not sure he wanted to talk to Bob about Liz. He did not want to talk too much about how he felt about her. "I see her for ten minutes in the morning because we walk the dogs and we have a two hour date every Friday and that's it. A time limit to it. That's about all I get."

"But you're different today," said Bob. "What happened this morning?"

"This is not preschool sharing time," said Fitz. "This is work! And I need to get back to it, because apparently I was not paying attention this morning. So can I? Can you hoof it and leave me to finish my fries or take them with you?"

"I thought I could live vicariously through you," said Bob in a mocking and soulful voice.

"Well this is a side of you I didn't know about."

"I am the tragic hero. The fatherless son," continued Bob. "You know I am just a guy who is misunderstood and looking for love even if it isn't obvious. Even though I may secretly bed a different woman every Saturday night…I'm an archetype."

"Get out of here Bob," said Fitzwilliam. "You are _so full_ of yourself. There is nothing tragic about you, and you have an ego the size of Texas. I have not a modicum of sympathy for you, so goodbye."

"You're no fun," said Bob.

He did appreciate Bob bringing him lunch because it was something Alex would no longer do for him and something he needed to train himself to do. To stop and think that it was time to eat. Fitz admitted he was distracted. Part of him still thought about dinner with Liz and 'we can linger,' and the opportunity to have more than their standard two hours on Friday.

Somehow, he made it through work. At one point he texted her a quick hello. He did not hear back from her and wondered if he happened to choose the one hour she was in class. He recalled she only had one class on Wednesdays, but such was his luck. It was not until after six, when he was considering packing up and going home, that a reply came back.

 _I have a class late afternoon_

 _I feared_ was his reply. _I am still at work_

 _I wondered S_ he texted.

 _Can I call you?_ He asked.

 _No at store, any allergies? Getting things for Friday_

 _No, happy with anything_ He answered.

 _See you tomorrow_

 _See you tomorrow_

* * *

Because of Cherie's behavior the day before, he left her behind the next morning. Fitz did not really want to jog because he did not want to be so sweaty that he could not greet her or say farewell. He took only Benny, the good dog, with him.

They met with perfect timing at that corner. He did not use his words, but while Benny said his hellos the way dogs do, Fitzwilliam said hello the way he wanted to—with the most enthusiastic morning kiss he had ever given.

"Hi," she said when his hand left her waist and fell back down to his side.

"Morning. I am still not used to how dark it is," he replied. "I am thinking I may need a flashlight. When I began jogging the sky was much lighter."

"I have a flashlight in my pocket, just in case," she said. He still felt a little like a school kid, eager for a particular field trip or event, and not knowing what to do with himself in his anticipation of their time on Friday. Their conversation that morning faltered as he did not what to talk about. "Just Benny?" he was not sure if it was a question or a comment from her.

"I left the demon at home because she was so awful yesterday. I am not sure that Jack could keep up with the pace that you set."

"Ah, it is _my_ fault that you don't bring Jack," she teased.

"I can try," he said. "He is just a leisurely guy. If I take all of them and there's light," he gestured at the sky, but he was not sure there was enough ambient light for her to see his hand, "I can read my emails on my phone."

"Seems I took you to task for that once," she said.

"Right, I am not anxious to ever repeat that and get into trouble for it."

"Hmmm," danced over to him, and again their conversation seemed to falter.

"What are we having tomorrow?" he asked.

"Maybe I want it to be a surprise?" she answered.

"Does that mean you haven't decided?" he probed.

"No, I have. Maybe I am still working on that air of mystery."

"You certainly have me stumped Liz." Perhaps the tone of voice, the frustration at how little he did know about her came across then, and she sensed that.

"I am trying, Fitz," she said. They had ventured from anticipation of a dinner to their unease and misgivings about the nature of their relationship.

"I try, but I want more," he said.

"I guess that it's not the best beginning today," she replied. "There's just a lot on my mind or just a lot on my plate. I am sorry if…I know I am not forthcoming. I am sorry if I am not witty today. And I am tired! I hate the time change!" she cried.

"Liz we're all allowed to have down days," he placated, though little spikes of concern nagged at him. Yvonne thinking a college-age student was too young for him. Bob's hints that maybe he was a little too enamored, and Fitz's own worries that he was too interested in her but just did not get enough from her in return.

It was time to part. He put a hand on her shoulder and a peck on her lips, and they said goodbye. A kiss like one of their first, not one of their more passionate partings, and he and Benny trotted home.

* * *

Liz did not know why she was so quarrelsome. She had not meant to be disagreeable. And yet, as they headed towards the weekend with a more serious date on Friday evening, prickles of fear, her past, kept intruding in her thoughts. There was a part of her that was almost like a little gremlin on her shoulder.

It was not a devil on her shoulder inciting her to be bad or naughty, this was only a gremlin which made her question herself by whispering that she was not adequate, she was _second-tier_ , this would not work out; Fitz was not what he appeared. It had seemed like such a good idea. She felt ready to reveal more of herself to him but now she wondered _what the hell were you thinking?_ And at such a time? The last day of the quarter was Friday and then there were finals next week. _That_ was the reason she was not going home, and did not have to pick up Mary. Her having to study for finals was one of the excuses she could give to her mother for staying home: finishing papers, and studying. But she wondered if she should be giving him the time that should be spent on studying.

This was not so much buyer's remorse as it was fear. She had not ever gotten this far. She had dates but had been indifferent to every single one of those men since she had left home, left Merriton behind (both Merriton the town and Kevin Merriton). And even with dating Devon Miyazaki though there had been that sense of shared things with him, there had been no interest in him, no _smitten-ness_ , and then she thought _damn you Jane for putting that in my head because it is not a word!_

But partially like a hostess who is worried about her party, Liz was worried the dinner would not work out. She was worried about him seeing her small little condo which she shared with Brad and Charlotte. She did not know where her roommates would be, who would be home, who would be gone. Though he had offered his house, she did not think she wanted to see where he lived. That would be too overwhelming , she needed to be on her territory.

But as she had mentioned to Jane, part of her subconscious was pulling up and throwing memories about Kevin at her—about the way he had treated her—and reminding her about the way she had felt after he had left. Another part of her was saying _you can trust yourself_ and you _can_ be involved with somebody, and it _can_ work out. You need to recognize you are interested in this guy. _You like this guy_. For whatever reason, you have common interests. You cannot simply argue that you two have only been on two dates because you see each other every day, _every weekday morning_ , and you talk. There have been more than two dates to establish the relationship between you.

It was hard because her unconscious mind was pulling up those bad feelings, rolling them up into tennis balls and throwing them at her. Sometimes it was difficult not to feel querulous.

Thursday was another long day of butt-in-chair classes and there was a lot of review, but in between her Shakespeare & Dickens and her poetry writing courses, she pulled out her phone and texted Fitz.

 _Hi, it's Liz_

 _Hold on_ he replied

He was meeting with Charles, but they were wrapping things up so he asked his friend to excuse him. Charles obliged, and Fitzwilliam made his way out of Bingley's office wondering if she was going to cancel, or give an excuse, claim she had to go home to wherever home was. He texted her as soon as he was clear of the door.

 _Okay, free now_

 _Tomorrow is Friday the 13th, you're not superstitious? S_ he asked.

He felt a little broadsided by the note, but replied: _No_

 _Ok, just checking you won't cancel on me…due to bad luck W_ as her next text.

 _NO W_ as his reply.

 _Here's my address, it's in Palo Alto, 432 Creek Dr._

 _Ok_ He stopped in the hallway to text, _thanks, you between classes?_

 _Yes sort of lunch break S_ he replied.

 _Wish we could eat H_ e began, then deleted that text and wrote: _Mine too_

 _Sorry I was…grumpy this am_

He wondered how best to respond, looked up and realized he was still standing in the hallway and should probably keep moving and not be a lovesick calf texting his…girlfriend. He apparently took too long to text her as

 _Ciao A_ ppeared.

 _Sorry H_ e quickly typed.

 _Walking between offices_

 _And texting not easy H_ e typed in quick succession.

 _Grump all you want so long as you're with me_ He finally concluded.

 _Thanks, gotta go S_ he replied.

 _Ciao S_ he sent again, but it wasn't dismissive this time.

 _Bye_ He sent back

* * *

The other administrative assistants had set up a birthday luncheon for her. Alex picked out her favorite and most expensive restaurant since someone else would be paying.

They had also invited Mason and that new hire Charles Bingley, who one admin had quite a crush on—because of the accent. Charles came; he said he had wanted to thank everyone for all their help when he had come on board. Samantha in HR seemed to take his thanks personally and got all moony.

Which was the First Thing Wrong. The Second Thing Wrong was that Mason did not come. Despite the invitation on his calendar and her having accepted it on his behalf (well, these days she could only _tentatively_ accept such things)—he Did Not Show.

The Third Thing Wrong was that she was now twenty-five years old and not yet married to a rich man. Despite plans and lists, Alex was very surprised she had not achieved what she had set out to do. The Fourth Thing Wrong was her sister, Juanita's gift. Alex thought she had trained everyone to stick to the lists. She had a very detailed Amazon Wish List about what she wanted for her birthday, what was acceptable to give her. Yet her older sister, Juanita, had veered from the list, despite years of training. After all, they had grown up together; you would think her sister would know her!

Juanita had said she was tired of commercialism and wanted to be thoughtful. Juanita had sent her baby sister a little porcelain figure which had a saying on it, but Alex had not even bothered to look at it. It was not from the list, it was not something she wanted. She picked up the box and dumped it in the trash.

* * *

A/N: posting early as I am unavailable tomorrow. Chapter Fifteen should go up at regular time on Friday.


	15. Night Time is the Right Time

**Volume 2: Entropy**

Chapter Fifteen

"Night Time is the Right Time"

 _Oh, come on baby  
_ _You know I want you by my side  
_ _I want you to keep  
_ _Oh, keep me satisfied_

 _I know the night time  
_ _Everyday is the right time  
_ _Yeah, to be with the one you love now  
_ _Well, you know it's all right_

They had always met at an agreed-upon place. Fitzwilliam knew it was a huge step for Liz to have given him her home address and to have invited him over for dinner. She said she shared an apartment, but it looked more like a small house, one-level that he could see as he stood with his heart beating high and fast. He was looking at her place in the pathetic light from a street lamp as he stood outside on the sidewalk. 'The door on the left,' she had said, so it had to be a duplex or condo. Turned out there were two doors on the left, but one was smaller, and he assumed it was a service door of some sort, though he could not place it. He knocked. She answered.

"Hi Fitz," she said, and moved backwards to let him step inside.

"Hi Liz," he did not occupy the space she had made but pointed over at the second door. "Where does that lead?"

"The garage. I have no idea why we need a back door to a garage that is so small no car will fit in it unless you drive a Mini-Cooper. We store all our junk in it. Well…Brad and Ron keep their outdoor stuff in it, mainly," she answered.

He turned back to look at her. She wore jeans and a blouse with buttons down the front, yellow buttons which stood out and which made his mind wonder about undoing the buttons. He finally stepped inside. He touched her face, ran his fingers into her hair while he looked at her before placing a kiss on her lips.

"Short," she said.

"Door open," he replied, stepping in and around her. She shut the door. Their arms fought with one another at the sound of the click, to pull each other forward; their lips tasting the other, hungry and seeking and not being entirely satisfied with the results.

Liz pulled back. "I can show you around. Charlotte is out. She has an all-night study session. Brad and Ron went away for the weekend."

Her hand found his, and she pulled him forward and into the kitchen. It was minuscule; there were no countertops to speak of and only the basic appliances—range, dishwasher, sink and refrigerator—all crammed together in the smallest space possible. "Did I mention that classes ended today and finals are next week, and I really should be studying or finishing one of, like, five papers…" her voice trailed off.

"Liz," Fitz twined his fingers through hers firmly. "I don't have to stay long. You did not say you had finals next week. I sort of thought you might be having spring break."

"It must have slipped my mind," she answered. "I have to eat, so why not have you over to share a meal?"

"I won't stay long," he assured her.

"Our kitchen," she said, and waved her free hand vaguely at the tiny room. There was an eating area, a table with seating for only two though the table barely had room for two to eat at it. She pulled him past the stove and refrigerator into another room. This one was crammed with desks. There were built-in bookcases on either side of the fireplace (both crammed full), and it was obvious the room was not used for its intended purpose as a living room.

"Our study area. We each have a desk," she weaved her way through the room, and he realized they were winding their way back to the front door. There was a couch on the other side of a pony-wall by the front door looking quite like a stereotypical college couch of indiscriminate color and looking worn and much used.

He pulled on her arm, sitting down abruptly and swinging her onto his lap. "What is for dinner?" His arms worked their way around her waist, his cheek rubbed against the back of her head.

"Stir-fry," she leaned against him. "I have most everything chopped up. I should make sure the rice doesn't need to come off."

"Can I help?" he breathed into the back of one shoulder.

"Can you cook?" she thumped back at him with the same shoulder.

"Not at all," he answered and settled back into the couch, his hands clasping her even more tightly against him.

"Then no," she said, leaning away from him, "you can't help." Her hand pulled at one of his, and he reluctantly loosened his grip on her.

She stood and walked a little hurriedly into the kitchen. Liz's blood raced around inside, and she was not sure if it was because of panic rather than because of attraction. She could not help questioning what she was doing inviting Fitz over for dinner and wondering about her motivation. Was she only attracted to rich men and would it only, always, end badly? Was she destined to make bad choices. Her mother was always telling her English was a poor choice for a major. She ought to study some topic which lead to a specific job. Had she some fatal flaw? Did she read far too much literature and not get out enough, as Charlotte insisted?

Jane and Mary had assured her that Kevin was far more to blame than Liz was for the breakup between them. But Liz wondered if she was someone who constantly set themselves up for failure no matter the situation: love, school, work, friendships, relationships.

"Is the rice ready?" he asked as he stood looking at her stare at the stove top. She reached for the saucepan lid and peeked, the steam bursting up and burning her. Liz dropped the lid back on the pot and stepped over to the sink to run water on her hand. He was beside her, behind her, cradling her hand in his while it ran under the water.

"That was stupid; the hot pad is hanging on the side of the fridge. I don't know why I did that," she said as his fingers came up to play with hers while the cold water ran over the burn. "I guess I was distracted."

"Am I distracting you?" he asked. His other hand came up to rest on her left hip. He leaned into her.

"Yes..and no," she answered.

"No?" he asked. He closed his eyes and brought his nose down to breath in the scent of her hair, nudged his way through her hair to find her neck and nuzzled at it.

"Yes when my sleeve is getting wet," she called to him. He opened his eyes, gave her neck a playful nip and stepped back. Liz turned off the water and shook it off of her sleeve. She became efficient then, taking the hot pad to remove the lid from the rice, determining that it was done and setting it on an unheated burner to cool.

"What is this thing called cooking?" he teased, pointing over at the rice pan with his chin.

"I'll show you, but I haven't finished the rest of the tour." She held out her hand, the one with the wet sleeve, "I got distracted."

"So you did," he said as he clasped her hand. She tugged him back out of the kitchen. Just past the front door there was a hallway. There were stairs leading up, though the duplex had not appeared two stories tall, these stairs were only half a flight, a door cracked open at the top.

"Brad has the master, up there. Ron is always with him. It's a two-for-one deal," she said pointing up the stairs.

"And you don't mind?" he asked, "that the boyfriend doesn't pay rent?"

"I think Ron keeps him out of the house more than Brad would be in it should they not be together," answered Liz. She walked down the hallway. There were only three doors. "My room," she opened the door.

It was a small bedroom. Fitz considered that all of the bedrooms in his house were at least twice that size, though he did not say so. It was remarkably barren of furniture given that the front room and kitchen appeared to be crammed full (and she had mentioned the garage was as well). It was largely square in shape; the closet doors were closed. The wall opposite had a sliding glass door in it with curtains half-closed before it. He could discern a little patio area with no greenery, only cement outside.

There was a small bed, though not a single bed, covered with a colorful bedspread. It was centered on one wall against an ugly headboard which had little cubbies sized for a different, larger bed, which provided a little shelf space. There was a single chair, but otherwise no other furniture, not even a floor lamp.

Fitz wondered at his Liz that her room was so tidy and barren when the rest of her house was so crazy. "Does it suit you?" he asked.

"It does," she answered as they stood just inside the door and looked at her room. "My sanctuary."

"The bedspread is amazing. Colorful," he said, looking at the crisp whites and blues and golds in it.

"Thank you. Nonna made it," she said. Liz stepped back into the hallway. "This is the bathroom," she pointed to the open door which lay across but down the hallway from her own door.

"Very small," he remarked as they stepped down to peer in.

"I have to share with Charlotte," she said as they stood side-by-side to admire an ugly and unremarkable bathroom. Their images were reflected back at them in the bathroom mirror as they stood there. He looked at Mirror Liz and smiled. Mirror Liz wrinkled her nose at him. He smiled even more at her. Mirror Liz turned away. "This is Charlotte's room. Normally I am not supposed to go in, but I will show it to you."

Liz opened her roommate's door. Fitzwilliam was not certain why he was supposed to look at the room, but he dutifully did. It was larger than Liz' room, which was perhaps the point she wanted to make.

"It is bigger than yours," he said.

"Yes, mine is tiny," she sighed. "But hers is a mess."

"She is untidy, isn't she?" he agreed.

"Yes. It makes sharing a bathroom all the harder. You should see under the bathroom sink," she said, looking around at Charlotte's room which had an unmade bed, clothes on the floor as one would expect from a college student, but many cardboard boxes stacked in corners and along the opposite wall as well.

"A mess," he looked at her. "Liz, do we need to call off dinner? Your hand…you were not paying attention…and more importantly, you said finals were next week. I don't want to distract you from your studies. And, well…I think my being here is making you nervous."

Her grip on his hand relaxed and then both her hands grabbed him around his waist to pull him to her. "No," she said to his chest. "I want you to stay." His hands came up to hold her to him.

"We'll play it by ear, okay?" He could feel the press of her body against him as her lungs filled and emptied with air, as did his own, and was it excitement or nervousness, a combination of both, or something else? Did she fear him in some way? Or was it something else entirely? Some issue he could not help her with. The thought made him feel sad, and he tightened his grip as they stood there in the doorway and clung to each other. He hoped there was never any fear that drove her from his arms, though he was still in those heady, early stages of discovery. He hoped there was no issue which he could not assist her with. He realized how truly smitten he was with this college student, this dog walker, his Liz.

There was that conference in Vegas next weekend. He wondered if her finals would be over by then and if she might agree to come with him. He had wanted to get away because it was an important energy-related conference, but it would also be the anniversary of his father's death. He had hoped Georgie might come home to spend it with him, but she had chosen a different way of distracting herself, by going to Florida and being a typical college student on spring break. If he was in Vegas, he would not be home and reliving the memories of those early days of his trials. And better yet, if Liz would come with him. To ask her would require the right timing, though.

"Are you ready to watch me cook?" she leaned back to look at him. His hands moved around her back as he leaned down and kissed her. Their hands began exploring, mimicking their tongues tickling and touching, delicate still.

Fitzwilliam leaned back with her in his arms, "yes, I will learn about this thing called cooking."

"My sleeve is still wet. I will change shirts and meet you in the kitchen," she said, letting go of her hold on him and turning into her room. He heard her open a closet door. He walked past the open door but did not stop to look inside. He moved into the kitchen and waited for her.

The sink was set below a window which looked out onto that patio, he assumed, though it was too dark to distinguish anything as he glanced through it. A stack of magazines lay on the counter, mixed in with some mail, and he picked up one of the cooking magazines, intending to thumb through it while he waited. He glanced at the cover and saw 'Liz Bennet' and her address stamped on it. Her family name was Bennet!

The sounds of feet alerted him to her approach so he opened the magazine and began flipping through the pages, looking at the glossy magazine photos of dishes which looked far too complicated to eat.

"You can't change your mind; I probably don't have the ingredients for anything in there," she said as she came up to stand next to him.

"Just seeing what I am getting into. As I once explained, I am too busy with work to consider having time to cook. I make great toast," he closed the magazine and put it down.

He stood at his place by the sink while she opened the refrigerator and pulled out various bowls or zip-top bags and moved them onto a tiny counter-space which lay between the fridge and the stove. A wok was pulled from some place, small work bowls from another, and then small jars of seasonings and spices as she prepared a sauce. He stepped forward but she looked at him over her shoulder.

"Don't distract me," she grinned, and her hand came out to touch him on his chest, a light, delicate touch, just her fingertips brushing him. He thought he would be unhinged, sweep her up into his ams and wrestle her over to that couch all the while tearing off both of their clothes.

"Perhaps I should go sit at the table," he suggested, resisting the temptation to touch her in any way.

"Perhaps," her smile lit up her face and her eyes—and he recalled her smiling like that on one of the first days he had met her. It had been the first moment something; some emotion inside him had stirred towards this woman. The gesture still had a powerful draw on him. He resisted touching her and went to sit at the small kitchen table, angling his chair so he could watch her.

He did not talk but simply watched her cook. In a remarkably short time her quickly moving arms had tossed and stirred and seasoned her desired dishes and three bowls were laid out on that small counter-space.

"Come eat," she called to him, turning to open a cupboard and to pull out a plate. He got to his feet and came over to where she stood, plate in hand, at the beginning of that small galley kitchen. He took it from her hand, put it on the counter and took her into his arms, his hands and tongue invasive this time. Her new shirt was a simple long-sleeved t-shirt, and a hand found where the shirt and her jeans met, his fingers moving onto bare skin. It made both of them suck in a breath. He stilled that hand while he moved his kisses from her lips across her cheek to the side of her neck.

"I am crazy about you," he told her.

Liz had had a couple moments of panic that evening since he had arrived, and she had been surprised that Fitz had noticed them. She had been nervous when she was showing him the condo, though there had been no need for the tour (he had not asked), but for some reason she had wanted to show him the entire place as though being able to show him her home was to give him a hint as to who she was.

She had not been forthcoming about herself, she knew that. And as she stood there blabbering on about how messy Charlotte was, which had been nonsense talk, he had picked up that she was nervous and suggested that they call the evening off. But she did not want to do that. She wanted him to stay. Liz knew she would take him to her bed. She had not considered sleeping with anyone else since Kevin; she had not reached that point in the few dates she had gone on since going off to college. Most of the time she simply went out with a group of friends.

Fitz made her feel important. He even made her feel loved, though it was ridiculous to consider such an emotion so early in a relationship. But she also still admitted to being wary. He was a rich man—that was a point he did not deny. He owned his own business. He lived in Atherton. Was that too much of a gap between them?

"I am rather fond of you, myself," she replied, her hands were teasing his hips and one hand slid to his backside and traced a pattern there.

He nipped at her neck. "Just fond of me?" and that hand which had stilled on her bare skin moved to match the pattern her own was making.

"All I will venture right now. Suffice to say, it is high praise." She suddenly slapped his butt cheek and stepped away. "Time to eat before the food is cold." The plate was passed back to him; she opened a drawer and pulled out a fork which she put on his plate. "Serve yourself while I get my own plate," and she used her head to indicate the stove.

He heaped his plate with food. She had made stir-fried rice, a vegetable dish, and a meat dish with beef. He stepped to the side as she came to the stove to dot her own dish with food. He playfully tugged at her shirt as he stepped towards that table, but she balked at following him.

"Oh! I suppose you want something to drink with your dinner. Are you used to having wine with your meals?" she asked. "I…I am not sure if we have anything. I just turned twenty-one. I am not used to this being-an-adult thing." Her eyes sought his, seeking reassurance.

"I rarely drink wine with dinner. Don't make assumptions about us rich guys," he tugged again at her shirt. "Come and eat." He let go of her shirt and walked to the table, set down his plate and took up his chair. When she joined him, he tentatively asked, though his heart beat so fast he thought for sure she could hear it, "you just had a birthday?"

"Yes, in January," she replied after her first bite.

"Did you celebrate with your roommates, go to a bar?" he prompted.

"No, school had not started yet," she said and forked a piece of beef.

"School had not started yet? So your birthday must be _very_ early in January," he said. He hoped his voice did not sound as breathless and excited to her as it did to him. He did not know why discovering her birthdate was important, but any little fact about his Liz—Liz _Bennet_ —made him feel closer to her.

"Yes. It's on the first. Dad joked I was his 'little disappointment' since I was born in the wee hours of the morning on the first and couldn't be bothered to come a few hours earlier, on December 31st, so he could write me off of his taxes."

"January first, but are you really your father's disappointment?" he asked though he felt like his heart was doing leaps inside at pinning down her birthdate.

"It was a joke. He loves all of us equally well. He was the sort of father who defended himself from anyone who would dare attack him for having daughters and not sons. He never cared that we were all girls; he celebrated us." She took another bite. "When is your birthday?"

"April fifth," he answered promptly.

"How old are you?" she asked. He saw something behind her eyes, thoughts moving around in her mind, calculating his age and a small fear tickled at him then that she would consider him too old for her.

"I am twenty-eight," he answered though with a little hesitation in his voice.

"Next month you will be twenty-nine?" she asked as if doing a math problem. He nodded but said nothing in his defense. He watched as he saw that the age difference _did_ concern her.

Liz did not know why his age bothered her, but if he was a man who owned his own business she could not expect him to be younger, twenty-three or four. She had not expected to have so much in common with someone with an eight year difference in age. She would have thought their experiences should have been different; they should be at different stages in life.

"Interesting," she ventured. "I…had not guessed you were so much older than me."

"I am hardly that much older," he reached his hand over to touch her own. "Does it bother you?"

His hand was distracting as his fingertips brushed over the tops of hers. "I don't _think_ it really does," she answered, looking at his hand and not at his eyes.

"I worry that I make you nervous. The dinner is delicious," he said. "Shall we finish it up, take a walk in that little park across the street, and then I can leave you to your studies?" he offered.

"Look, it's like playing darts," she looked up to catch his eyes then. "You don't always hit the center mark, but so long as we're hitting somewhere near the middle…" her voice petered out.

"I don't quite follow," he said.

"I _am_ a little nervous," her fingers stopped being a drum for his touch but came up to mark their own tune on his hand, "but I want you to stay…longer."

"I have made a mark?" his fingers came up to run over the back of her hand, and he saw her whole body shudder. "I hit close to the center mark?" If all his other discoveries that evening had thrilled him, this unexpected declaration made him feel as if he were shining inside.

She nodded.

"Liz," he groaned as desire took hold of him, his chair was pushed back as he planted his hands on the table and leaned over to kiss her, nibbling at her lips, running his tongue on them and playing a teasing game with his tongue to which she joined.

Her hand played with his hair and traced his ear as they ignited each other until he sat down abruptly.

"The angle is awkward," he explained.

"Are you done eating?" she asked looking at his half-full plate. She had barely touched hers.

"I am done," he answered not taking his eyes off of hers.

"We need to clean up before desert," she stood and broke the contact, reaching for both of their plates and moving back into the kitchen.

"Clean?" he called to her, his mind not on plates, but elsewhere.

"Novel idea," she said as their plates were scraped into a garbage can, "do you have staff?"

"I might," he admitted. "I am rarely home for most meals." He came to stand beside her.

"This is a dishwasher," she opened the appliance next to the sink, turned and handed the plates to him. "It cleans dishes. Load it while I put the food away. Rinse them first."

There were only the two plates and forks and the few work-bowls she had used. Liz wrapped up the leftover food and stored it away. When he attempted to put the wok in the dishwasher he was scolded, and she wrenched it from his hands. "Hand wash only," she said, pushing up her sleeves. He pressed up behind her to watch her clean the wok; she apparently had a special brush to clean it. His hands explored that line between her shirt and jeans again as she washed.

The wok was placed on top of a towel to air dry, and Liz spun in his hands to face him. "Desert," she said pulling him to a kiss. It was no longer delicate, nervous, and exploring. She kissed him as if sucking a treat from a spoon with a small little flick of her tongue at the end which teased and maddened him with its brevity. Her hands started by simply holding him to her but then began to explore: his back, his backside, his hips, and finally touching his stomach and running her fingers just beneath the waistband of his trousers.

He groaned, "Liz, have care," though he leaned into her touch.

She pulled back, looked at him and smiled.

* * *

Next chapter:

"My One and Only Love"

 _The shadows fall and spread their mystic charms  
_ _In the hush of night while you're in my arms  
_ _I feel your lips, so warm and tender  
_ _My one and only love_


	16. My One and Only Love

Chapter Sixteen

"My One and Only Love"

 _The shadows fall and spread their mystic charms  
_ _In the hush of night while you're in my arms  
_ _I feel your lips, so warm and tender  
_ _My one and only love_

 _The touch of your hand is like heaven  
_ _A heaven that I've never known  
_ _The blush on your cheek whenever I speak  
_ _Tells me that you are my own_

 _You fill my eager heart with such desire  
_ _Every kiss you give sets my soul on fire  
_ _I give myself in sweet surrender  
_ _My one and only love_

"I think the kitchen is not the place for dessert," her fingers ran back around his waist to hold him to her. "Will you stay?"

"You are sure I am not disrupting your studies?" he asked while he still felt he had some sense.

"You have made your mark, Fitz," she said, and he lost it then, would have swept her up into his arms if she had not backed away from him, tugging at his hand as she walked backwards, inviting him, leading him around the corner and down the hallway to her bedroom door. He loved that she called him Fitz. He loved everything he had, so far, discovered about this woman. He wished he had told her his full name and knew he would share _that_ with her; knew there were so many other things to share with her as she pulled him past the threshold of her door and closed it.

There was no overhead light in the room, only a small reading lamp on that ugly headboard, but she tugged him over to the patio doors with the half-open curtains which provided light. Their hands were all over each other then as he tugged at her shirt to get it off over her head, and she worked at untucking his own and attempting to undo his buttons. Liz had the benefit of being barefoot, but he still had on his socks and shoes.

"Wait," he cried and reluctantly moved to sit in that lone chair to quickly undo his shoelaces and peel off his socks. She managed to tear off her jeans which distracted him from his shirt front buttons so after undoing the sleeve buttons and one on the placket in front, he pulled his shirt off over his head and came back to join her in the moonlight by the sliding-glass door.

He was reaching for her, but her hands were busy with her bra and it came off, her breasts swinging free. They hung heavy and beautiful before him. She must have worn a sports bra that molded and changed and minimized her form that he had not noticed them. But the light was always dim in the morning and their relationship had been of conversation and discovery about the other, not one focused on a physical attraction.

But his eyes grew drunk at the sight of her breasts. He moved forward, one hand reaching for her waist, the other touching the soft curve of her breast as he ran his palm down it, used that flat portion to twirl the rigid nipple against his palm. Then he twirled his hands and his fingers underneath it to cup the breast in his hand as he savored the feel of, and as he took hopelessly forgetful breaths.

"Fitz," her voice was heavy and deep with desire, and he felt it matched his own. "It has been years…" her hands touched the bare skin of his stomach, and he gasped. He was not certain how well he would do, so far gone was he already.

"It has been a long time for me…" he kissed her, pulling the two of them together with his desire for her pressed through his trousers against her belly; her breasts rubbed against his chest, tantalizing him. "Years for me too," he said when he came up for air.

"I am baby-proof, but you still have to put a sock on it," she said with a slightly practical note to her voice, and then she broke away from him. He watched as she moved to the closet. One side was open, a fact he had not noticed before when they had been distracted with clothing removal. She had a chest of drawers tucked inside, and Liz opened a drawer and rummaged there for a second before she came back to him and handed over a small package. He had not considered that they would ever be at this point so quickly so had not come prepared, but he took the package and tossed it on the edge of the bed.

"Liz," he said then pulled her against him, "Liz..." Her hands ran along the waistband of his trousers at the back, but they made their way to the front, and she undid the button, the zipper, and then eased them down. His hands seemed to have a mind of their own and played with her breasts as if they had never encountered such objects, such perfectly formed works of art before. Her hands managed to remove his underwear as well and when she touched him he worried he would not last. She stroked his length and his hands stilled their own exploration of her body; she ran a soft thumb delicately over the tip while he groaned softly. He finally put out a hand to clasp her wrist and to still her actions.

"You…" he panted, "are still dressed," he slide a finger down her hip to spear her panties and began pulling them down her legs. She wriggled out of them, and they fell while he divested himself of the tangle of clothes at his feet. They took a step closer to the bed; he had a hand on her hip as though she needed guiding, but she stopped before the edge and took his hand.

" _Pancia_ …" she croaked, placing his hand on her belly, " _tette_ …" she moved his hand up to her breast, but her eyes were on his as she drank in his excitement and wonder, " _e culo_ …" she had to switch hands, but she led his hand to her buttocks as he heard her voice break with desire. She loosened her grip and put her hands on his hips to press herself against him, her breasts rubbing against his chest again, his sex pressing insistently against her belly. " _La dote di Friule_ ," she whispered in a voice he had never heard.

The moan that escaped him was like no other he had ever expressed. In the seconds she needed to turn and throw back the covers, he had ripped open the package and rolled on the condom. They were on the bed, then under the sheets, kissing while they wrestled for position. Their breathing was harsh and uneven; then she lay back and their sport became a dance as he moved over her, and she pulled him down to her. His sex pressed against her, and they moved together to meet. They both shuddered at the union; he reached underneath her to elevate her hips; she reached to grab his buttocks and press him deeper. They moaned in unison.

He moved as she did, not a slow dance, but one of a frenetic pace, their desire burning through them. It was not one of exploration and discovery, not gentle, but specific, pointed, and purposeful as their movements sought that ultimate end point for each other. Liz threw back her head as her back arched and, despite his weight, she lifted him up, her body arching, as she called out and gave way to the intensity of feelings that swept through her body.

"Fitz…" Liz' voice was husky as her body sank down again to the bed, her limbs no longer responsive. His movements did not cease, but he brought a hand up by her shoulder to steady himself as he kissed her then his lips dropped away from hers as he called out his own pleasure; his movements, their dance ceased.

"Liz…" he moaned to her neck as his hands came around her back to hold her as close as he could. "Oh my god, Liz..." His body shuddered one last time in his fall from the heights of pleasure. Their breathing was irregular but calmer as they lay together, united and sated. He knew he had to move his bulk. Fitzwilliam moved his hands from behind her slowly, held himself up to nuzzle at her neck, unsure his lips could remember how to kiss just then. He ran a hand down her body, delighting in the feel of her skin under his hand. When he got to her hip he sighed, pulled himself to his knees then moved to curl himself next to her.

They lay together, his arm curled around her waist, both of them warm, delighted, in that state between sleeping and waking. Liz turned slightly to move a little closer to Fitz as she indulged in that sense of affection and attachment sex brought with it. She laid her head back against him and hummed a long sustained note. His grip on her tightened, and he blew out a breath which became a groan as he pulled her ever closer. They fell asleep.

* * *

A scraping sound pushed at him until he woke, it was irritating but not alarming.

Fitzwilliam could not place it; he had that brief moment when he could not characterize where he was though the radiant warmth of the bed made him feel comforted and accepted, then a figure stirred beside him, and Fitz sighed as his dreams stayed with him, proved to be his reality as well. When he opened his eyes to find her next to him in a rather small bed, he sighed with pleasure as his body, his mind, and spirit all leapt with a sort of joy. It was cozy, warm—that sort of warmth one pleasantly considers from a fireplace—and they were naked. He moved his hand up her belly to a breast to hold it; he weighed it in the fullness of his hand, ran his fingers over the outside of its shape and moved his thumb over to stroke at the nipple.

Liz moved against him, stirring as she woke to his touch. A humming sound came from her before she opened her lips to release a sigh of pleasure. She moved again, turning from her side to lie on her back. The moon had moved on, so it no longer provided its murky light through the patio door, and they lay largely in darkness in that small bed which was barely long enough to accommodate his tall frame. Fitzwilliam could not exactly see her features though he could distinguish her face and could tell that her eyes were open now.

"Hi," she said faintly.

He brought his hand up to stroke the side of her face, "you are so beautiful," he turned and brought his leg over, nestling it between hers while he smoothed strands of hair from her forehead. "Very, oh-so-very beautiful, Liz," his hand came down to steady himself as he started to kiss her, first at her temples, then next to her ear, then the jaw, a second kiss placed next to it. She stretched her head away inviting him to invade her neck.

That scraping noise which had invaded his dreams sounded again, and she stilled under his touch. "Hold on," she pushed him gently as he was practically hovering over Liz, blocking her from sitting up. There was room for her to crawl out of bed on her side, the side next to the wall. She moved sideways then shuffled to the patio door, bent to remove a stick which held it in place and unlocked the door. A small figure came running inside from the night bringing in the sting of night air as well. He heard her make an involuntary shuddering noise. She locked up the door.

"You have a cat?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied as she moved back towards the bed.

"But you walk dogs."

"I know…" and she laughed.

He felt a weight as the cat jumped on the bed but then a growl came through the darkness followed by a drawn-out hiss.

"Does he sleep in here?" he asked.

" _She_ is in and out, but I think she needs to be out," and Liz picked the cat up from the bed and opened the bedroom door, placing the cat in the hallway. The light was better then, as there was frosted glass by the front door which let in light from the street lamp outside, and he had an interesting glimpse of her backside as she leaned over to deposit the cat.

"I need to run across the hall," he said, climbing out of bed. He stopped in the doorway to wrap arms around her. "You're cold—get back in bed. I will be right back." He went into the bathroom, threw the used condom in the trash (which he had retrieved from the floor), used the toilet, and made his way back to her room. Liz was just then crawling into bed as he breached the doorway. "Will the cat stay out?"

"Morgan did not take well to you," she scooted over in bed to make room for him, "I don't think she will be back. She likes to sleep in Brad and Ron's room if she can. Is the door open?"

He looked across at that short set of stairs. The master bedroom door was open. "Yes."

"Come back to bed and warm me up." It was an invitation he could not resist though he stood for a minute looking at her form in the murky grayness of the bed covers. He could see where she had turned the covers back and the sheets lay lighter, and inviting. They and her arms waited for him to return. He shut the door. Fitzwilliam knelt on the bed, and it creaked as he tried to slide under the coverings without lifting them up and letting any cold air in. She scooted over though there was not much room to maneuver in that bed.

They were both cold; their skin cool to the touch, and goose bumps ran over both their bodies. There were shivers down their spines, but contractions in their guts as desire warmed those bellies, and spread up their trunks and down their limbs. Liz felt awake and alert, despite the hour (though there was no clock to proclaim the time). Her level of happiness and contentment from their earlier dance remained.

One of her arms snaked under him to pull him closer, the other hand came up and framed the bottom of his ribs, smoothed over his belly then set out to discover that hairline, smoothing and tracing the line of hair from down below, up his belly to where it lightened when she got to his waist. She found more, a patch there on his chest, and she widened her hand as she spread her fingers through its growth.

Liz could feel him warm up, his skin heat as she pressed her legs and belly and breasts against him as her fingers stroked his chest, running her fingers over its expanse. She lay in the crook of his arm and that arm and hand had been stroking her in a half distracted/half purposeful manner as she had, in turn, played with his body as they warmed each other. Her hand stopped stroking his chest and she ran it straight down to grab his sex suddenly, his hips rocking; he drew up his knees.

Her voice was a whisper, "I wondered how warm you were," she said, as she touched him.

"Warm," he answered, "warmer…getting hot," and she recalled hide and seek games as a kid and smiled in the dark with a man in her bed.

"I am warm too," she whispered.

"Good," he said and rolled to one side to free the arm which had been pinned beneath him. Fitz pulled her to his chest as he rolled onto his back then he pushed her up so she was sitting on his belly and reached up a hand to touch a breast. The sheets tumbled down her back to puddle on his tented knees, but the cold air nipped at her shoulders in her new position. An image flashed in her mind of Kevin, of them sitting on his mother's best sofa with Liz on top of his lap—Kevin's favorite place for her—he had wickedly thought _that_ sofa was the best place to fool around because of the chances of being caught.

"What are you doing?" she asked. He must have heard the anxiety in her voice as Fitz' hand stilled in the exploration of her body. She could see him move his head; hear the sound of it as it slid against the pillow.

"Putting you on top. I thought women liked being on top," he said.

"Do not make assumptions about me based on other women," she snapped, her breath rapid, her heartbeat thunderous. Hands came up to her; he straightened his legs and pulled her down beside him. The covers were adjusted up to her shoulders. Fitz paused a minute then his arm came beneath hers to scoop her into his own, and he held her back in the crook of his arms.

"I am sorry I did," he said.

"It is cold without covers on," she replied. Her breathing began to settle as she warmed in his arms and as that small fear, sparked by that memory, vanished.

"Liz, I am crazy about you," he pressed the side of his head against hers. "I want to know everything I can about you. I ask questions, but as we both agreed, you can choose not to answer them." She had appreciated that he had not been heavy-handed with his questions, though he had been subtle and clever, and her lips came up to smile there in the dark though she did not believe he could see that smile. "I have another question for you," he said.

She could not help her body's reaction in stilling; her knees pressed together, her arms tightened to her sides. He felt her reaction though, and Fitz moved to gently rub her shoulder.

"It is, I hope, an easy one. Do you finish with your finals by next Friday?" he asked.

Liz was surprised by the turn in the conversation and relaxed. "Yes, I am done by Friday."

"Will you come to Vegas with me for the weekend?" His arms tightened their grip around her, and his chin rubbed against her shoulder. "I have a conference there, which is why I have to go, but I would love…love to have you go with me." He turned on his side and pulled her to spoon against his body, "love to have you with me." She could hear his deep voice almost vibrating through his chest wall and into her back as he spoke that last phrase.

"I…I like to sleep on things…making decisions," she replied though her heart leapt at the affection and tenderness in his voice as he had asked. If there had been any fears, they were gone, and that thrill and desire had returned with a vengeance. "But it sounds tempting… _you_ sound tempting," she said as she wriggled in his arms.

"I am tempting?" he growled in her ear, nosed against her neck, then kissed her shoulder. A flush of heat spread through her body, and she moved her hips, tightened her sex in response. She could feel his own sex pressing against the back of her thighs. Her heartbeat doubled then, and Liz knew she wanted him again and soon, and did they have to go through the checklist of foreplay or could they take it as read? Despite that moment of panic, she was ready for him, but perhaps Fitz needed more encouragement.

"Yes, very," she said as she moved. Liz turned around so she was on her side, facing him. He had waited for her, letting her dictate their direction, but he moved a hand to run it over her backside and down the top of her leg and then back again as she inched closer, a distraction. Her breasts rubbed against his chest as she closed the gap to kiss him. Their breathing was almost too distorted to allow for kissing as they nipped and sucked and paused to gasp for air; their bodies pressing slowly closer and tighter as his arm reached under her to pull them together. His other hand on her butt cheek had a firm hold while they united their bodies; his sex slipped between her thighs and her moan was throaty, guttural. "Careful," she called out though the sensation of him right up against her pearl made her eyes roll up.

Liz removed a hand from its place on his body to grope along her headboard. It patted along the shelf to find the package she had placed there when he had run across the hall. She pushed against his hip; package in hand, a hint, though she did not wish him to remove his warmth. Liz found his hand and passed him the condom, moving away, breaking the connection though she turned on her back all the while keeping her leg against his that there never be a true lost connection between them.

He rolled over her, nudging her knees apart, and she drew her legs up. Fitz found his place between them. He fumbled with his hands and the condom, and she heard him mutter as his breath came unevenly. "I have lost…reason…and coordination around you," he gasped.

His form then leaned over to kiss her belly, but he surprised her as his lips hovered there, teasing her, tantalizing her without making contact. She jumped, surprised, as she felt his hands on the underside of her legs, sliding down from her knees; the fullness of his hands tormenting her as he smoothed them down her thighs, rotating his hands ever inward, down towards her sex as he pushed her legs farther apart, and then he finally planted that kiss on her belly.

"Now, Fitz! Now," she said as anticipation and delirium and delight took hold of her at his touch, and she called out to him. His sex touched her own, lips wrapped around a nipple; he moved inside in one fluid motion, hit a spot that made her soul sing, and Liz curled her back up, pulling her breast from his teeth as she cried and gasped and then called out in ecstasy as her sex contracted, her womb vibrated, her heart sang.

"Liz," said a voice that buried in her neck, one hand steadying himself, the other stroking her breast, his rhythm rocking her, giving her song a new cadence as she first swooned in her ecstasy, then her legs came to wrap around his back as his arms encircled her waist pulling her tighter. He hummed against her neck, his fingers on that breast, a tickling that became excitement, grew strident and full and filled her again with a sense of belonging and desire as it spread. Their movements were synchronous as their bodies rocked together. A hoarse cry escaped his lips, and she came again voicing her own pleasure as his arms pressed against her, his body stilled; they matched their breathing to the other as they again, lay entangled, united.

Sounds of the night came back to their ears as they heard a car on a road, distant freeway traffic, the overall hum of life having carried on despite the fact that they had ventured elsewhere together and then returned. Neither recalled repositioning themselves in that small bed, but they did, and they slept in a cocoon of arms and skin and radiant heat that carried them through to the dawn.


	17. Good Morning Heartache

Chapter Seventeen

"Good Morning, Heartache"

 _Good morning, heartache, you ole gloomy sight  
_ _Good morning, heartache, thought we'd said goodbye last night  
_ _I turned and tossed until it seemed you had gone  
_ _But here you are with the dawn  
_ _Wish I'd forget you  
_ _but you're here to stay  
_ _It seems I met you  
_ _When my love went away_

His calendar ringtone chirped from the pile of his clothes on the floor. Fitzwilliam rolled over reluctantly, away from Liz, misjudged where the edge of the bed was and slipped off of it to land with a loud crash on the floor. He lay there while that annoying ring tone taunted him, and he grew colder on the carpeted floor. A random thought occurred to him that all of the floors in his house were hardwood, and it would have been a tougher landing in his own room—though his bed was far larger. He felt he would never have fallen out in the first place.

He rolled off his back to his hands and knees, moved to his pile of clothes and found his cell phone where it had been in his pocket just as the alert timed out.

It was 6:30 a.m. and a calendar reminder flashed that he had his monthly breakfast meeting with his senior staff at 8:00. He went to sit on the chair and stared at his phone. What sort of manager and CEO was he that he had set a precedence for Saturday breakfast meetings once a month? _And why was it today_? It had never before been an issue when he had no personal life to speak of, and a young team who were all equally as invested in the company. It was too late to cancel it, but he would ensure this would be the last one.

Light filtered in through the patio door now, and he could see Liz's form under the bedclothes. The covering was no longer gray; he could distinguish the white, blue and yellows of it now as the sun hinted that it was to breach the hills. He put his phone down on the chair as he came over to the bed and slipped back under the covers. She appeared to still be sleeping, and he wondered that his falling from bed or the noise of his alarm had not disturbed her. Warmth had spread through his body when he had glimpsed her naked form as he slipped back in bed. Had he time to wake her before he left?

He moved closer, kissed a shoulder though he worried that his skin and body were too chilled to snuggle her just then. "Liz?" he whispered. Her hands snaked up in bed, but rather than touching him, they pushed the pillow out from under her head and pulled it down on top of her.

"Go away, it's too early," she mumbled and turned her body away from him.

"You are usually up by now, dog walking," he asserted.

"On weekdays," she said to her pillow, "not on the weekends." There was a pause. "I like to be a college student a little bit," she pulled her knees up and curled away from him even more. Apparently his Liz was not a morning person by nature.

"I have a meeting," he said, though it sounded so pathetic he wondered again how he had ever considered an informal Saturday morning meeting, on the company dollar, had ever been a good idea. "I will need to go soon." It did not seem to affect her in any way, and he wondered if she had fallen back asleep. His thoughts of waking her in a far different manner had gone out the window. He would need time to shower and change his clothes before he met with his team.

"Don't use the red towels, those are Charlotte's. Mine are the odd assortment of colors," came her voice.

"Can I make you coffee before I go?" he asked.

"No, it would probably just be cold before I got up," she answered. He could hear a sigh from under her pillow.

Reluctantly, Fitzwilliam slide from the bed. The light was even brighter now, beaming in from that half-covered glass door. He stood and looked down at the signs on the floor of their collective and unrestrained passion in the form of their clothes on the floor, his socks and shoes by the chair, her bra in a corner where she had tossed it. He began to pull on his clothes. He would go home to shower—and not worry about accidentally using the roommate's towels—change his clothes and go to his blasted meeting.

Eyes were watching him dress and he turned to see; Liz had pulled her pillow back under her head: her eyes were open as he did up the buttons on his shirt cuffs.

"I have never watched a man get dressed before," she said, "from the altogether," and she smiled. Her eyes were dazzling in the morning light and his passion for her stirred just looking at her smile as she lay in the bed. Fitzwilliam came around to her side, shuffling along that narrow path between the bed and the wall. The covers were up to her chin and her form was a nebulous outline under them, but his desire still took hold. He moved swiftly to crawl on top and pin her down under the coverings.

"We could have had such fun," he said, using a finger to pull back the covers and expose a clavicle. He traced the bone with the end of his fingertip.

"I don't wake up very well," she explained and squirmed a little. "I am more awake now."

"I am more dressed now," he replied.

"What sort of boss are you that you have meetings on Saturday mornings?"

"You have asked me that before," he said and left off his delicate touch to reach out and touch her face with his hand and run his thumb along her chin. "I want you to keep asking me that because I am questioning why myself when it means I need to walk away from you." He leaned down; his body pressed against her, and kissed her. His hands snaking behind her shoulders as he held her and planted kisses along her chin and cheeks and lips.

He pulled his hands free and rolled beside her on top of the covers as they lay on her pillow with their heads together.

"You asked me if I would go to Vegas with you," she whispered.

"Yes?" he propped himself up on an elbow to capture her eyes. "I know you have reservations about my relative wealth. But I can afford your ticket, and I really want you to go with me."

"I want to come," she said.

He gently kissed her as they lay there on that shared pillow. "I want you to come with me," he said. "I am smitten with you. Crazy about you. Any minute with you is a treasure."

He rolled over to bridge her shrouded form and captured her lips again. He imbued the kiss with all he felt for her and it was with reluctance that he pulled back.

"Do you really have to go?" she asked, he thought there was sorrow in her eyes.

"Yes," he replied.

"I am naked under here," she wiggled around.

He adjusted his spot and moved over to pin the covers tightly over her. "I was naked twenty minutes ago," he pointed out.

"I was sleeping then. You know how to take your clothes off. I could help you," she suggested.

"It would have to be fast and furious," his hand was on her cheek. "Consider how much fun we will have in Vegas in a bed big enough for me to fit into and not fall out of."

She giggled, "that was quite a thump." Liz moved up to kiss him, presenting her puckered lips as though kissing for the first time. It morphed quickly with his hands invading the covers again to find her form, stroke her skin.

"There will be no more Saturday meetings," he said after he came up for air. "I have other reasons, other things to be doing on Saturdays. Meetings will only happen on weekdays from now on."

"I am happy I have such influence on you."

"I need to shower and change because I cannot wear yesterday's clothes. Someone on my team will surely note the fact that I have not changed," he grinned. "I will, at least, get to see you for ten minutes on Monday though."

She pushed herself up a little, the covers sliding down precariously, "no," she said. "It's finals week."

"Do you take the week off?" he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I never get time off, but Ron is going to walk the dogs for me during finals week, so I won't be there."

"I won't see you at all next week? I hadn't realized." He felt cheated again, slighted, thwarted, hurt even, just when things were going his way.

"You're a busy man. I am sure you can fill the spaces. If you see Ron, you can say hi. He is a rather funny guy," she explained.

"I don't want to see Ron; I want to see you," he said.

"I have to be a student, don't you know?"

"Yes, I know," he said with reluctance. "I can see myself out."

"No," she said with some note he could not recognize in her voice. "I need to lock the door behind you if nothing else." She got up, and he could not help but admire her naked form in the morning light as she walked to the closet, the door still ajar, and reached in and pulled on a robe to see him off.

* * *

Fitzwilliam was the most efficient he had ever been with that Saturday breakfast meeting. And more than anything else, he was thankful that his cousin sent him a misspelled text minutes into the meeting to say he would not be attending. The last thing Fitz wanted was Bob's observant eyes on him that morning as he was certain evidence of his joy was apparent to all.

He ended the meeting early, expressing his thanks to all of his managers for coming but also making a point that he thought the usefulness of such a meeting had come to a close, and they should reimagine these monthly get-togethers. Many among his team agreed though he thought it interesting that two still felt them useful.

Home beckoned and since he had already showered, Fitz found a place on that long sofa in the family room which fit even his frame. Jack came to lay by his side, and he snoozed there, dreaming of Liz, with his hand on Jack's rough gray fur.

Fitz woke with sunlight beckoning him, the light of the day insisting that he come back. He looked up and realized that he did not have window coverings on those windows. In the family room, the wall was almost an entire expanse of glass and looked out on an expanse of green lawn. His wide yard was private and enclosed, and it meant he did not really require window coverings. But in a situation like this, he could have slept longer with drapes or blinds to block out the sun.

Fitz wondered if Liz had fallen back asleep. What she was doing? She had said it was finals week, and she would not be walking the dogs. Again he felt curtailed, lost, and disappointed. Not only would he have to wait until Friday to see her for their next block of time together, but there would not be those short moments in the mornings now. If it was finals, he wondered if her schedule was different. She had to eat and perhaps, just perhaps, she might have lunch with him.

He pressed his hand in his pocket for his phone, realized it had fallen out, and had to search in the sofa cushions for it. He pulled up her contact.

 _Napped after meeting, had dreams of you H_ e texted.

 _Slept first writing now W_ as her response.

 _Usually work Saturdays, too happy, too content to do naught but dream_ He sent back.

 _Am I bad for you? No work?_ Was her response.

He thought how easy it was to misinterpret another's message because there was no tone of voice or facial expression that went along with the words. He was not sure if she was teasing, if she had misinterpreted him, or he had misinterpreted her, but he sent back what he hoped was an emphatic,

 _NO, good for me not to work so much_

 _I am always working_ Was her reply. _No time off for college students. Worse than business man_

He thought about Georgie and her trip to Florida to be the epitome of the carefree college student.

 _What about spring break?_ He asked.

 _Extra work, student loans to pay off_ Was her reply.

 _Sorry to hear_ He sent back.

He thought about how privileged his life was then. He had not had to work until the dark day his Aunt Ellen had called to tell him that his dad was gone and that he was to shoulder a mountain of responsibilities, all at once, at an early age. It seemed Liz was shouldering responsibilities though they were only related to her school work, and how to pay for it. Such responsibilities meant that it cut into any time they would have together. He thought how easy it would be to fix that. He could easily pay to have time with her. But life did not work that way. She obviously took her responsibilities seriously; she had a sense of responsibility to pay her way.

There were so many in life who wanted a free ride. Those who did not want to work for a living. Silicon Valley was full of people who asked for or expected ridiculous salaries, who wanted to get rich quick essentially. Who came there to try and make money the fastest and easiest way possible (and if at all possible), to not have to work for it.

He was certain that his assistant was one of those women who would be perfectly willing to accept a free ride and a blank check if offered such by a man of a certain economic status. Fitz had to admire Liz for shouldering the responsibilities of working to put herself through school, for it seemed that her parents could not afford to help her out.

He wondered again where she went to school and how much the tuition would set her back, when there were other students, like his sister, who paid the bill in full. And when spring break came, they ran off to Florida to party, no doubt to drink and to flirt with each other. To enjoy life and not have to be concerned about money and working while in college.

* * *

Liz slept in later than she ever had on a Saturday, and when she woke somehow felt the bed was small, despite its being a double, because there was not another body next to her, keeping her warm. She never thought she would be at this point. Her identity had been wrapped up in her relationship with Kevin, another person, which many of her female friends had assured her women were want to do. And she had not ever wanted to be in that position again.

Her mother had insisted on being the center of attention in all things in the Bennet household, and she had a father who was rather passive about the family dynamics and let Minnie run things as she wished. Tom Bennet wished to only play the breadwinner role and then hide in his workshop.

Liz was book-ended by two sisters, and she adored them. They were sisters, however, with strong ideas about themselves. Jane was an engineer. A goal that her mechanically-minded sister had harbored since being denied a place on her middle school robotics team for the crime of being a girl and who went in to challenge the school principal about the injustice. On the other end was a sister who had a sexual identity which did not conform to the feminine identity their mother tried to impress on them. But Mary was not lesbian as a means of rebelling. They all knew, even Minerva knew, that Mary liked women.

Liz Bennet had been the quintessential middle child, a little lost between these two complex sisters and it was the nature of her relationship with her siblings that they talked about _their_ activities, interests, and issues, and never talked about Liz' own interests and desires.

That had been why Charlotte had been such a particular friend, because Charlotte had been one of the few people who Liz could talk to about what _Liz Bennet_ wanted in life. There was no one in her family who talked Liz into studying and insisted she be a straight A student in high school. It had been her friend Charlotte who had challenged her to do that. Char saw Liz' potential and interest in writing and poetry and encouraged her.

Kevin had come along and swept her off her feet in the proverbial romantic way. At the time, Liz had not really known any other form of relationship than in defining herself in terms of another and how they thought of her. But it was one thing to have a mother who was very self-centered, but still caretaking in her own way. It was another to have a boyfriend who had no interest in caring for her beyond what she provided him physically.

It had been so validating. Liz was suddenly the apple of her mother's eye with a rich boyfriend who was going to save the family. Liz who had worked hard in school, been rewarded by getting into Stanford, felt like everything was falling into place. It was as if Kevin Merriton was her reward for being _the good girl_ , for doing well in school, as if it was a rite of passage. She was smart; she was funny, talented, and she felt Kevin had been her prize. It all came crashing down when he called off the relationship and said there was to be no merger.

She did not wish to ever define herself in terms of her relationship with a man again. Could she be with Fitz and still be Liz?

* * *

It was like he was a broken record. Bob poked his head into Fitzwilliam's office and hollered, "lunch!"

"Huh?" Fitzwilliam looked up, distracted and dazed from his computer.

"Woah," Bob stepped further into the room. "I am so sorry that this is lunch is with an investor, because man oh man have you got news for me."

"Maybe I do," was Fitz' reply as he smiled weakly.

Bob wolf-whistled. "I really want to meet this one. Liz, huh, 'Liz and Mason' has a nice ring to it. Liz Darcy, huh, my new cousin."

"Shut up Bob," said Darcy. "We have lunch?"

"There's this investor, you've probably heard of him, a bit of a golden child, but I think he's a bit of a brat, C.W.W. Collins. He has managed to pick all the right stocks. He started with nothing ten years ago, and he's supposed to be worth forty or fifty million dollars these days. Anyways, he's taking us out to lunch, so hop to it because we're to meet him in the lobby in ten minutes."

Chesterton Walter William Collins had done well picking and investing and reinvesting. He had fifty million on paper, though like a number of people, your paper net worth does not necessarily reflect the hard realities. There were people who were millionaires ten years ago and quit their jobs to live on their investments, only to find themselves cash poor and looking for work later on. Sometimes, because of bad investments, sometimes, because of stock options that were now under water. Sometimes because what was hot one day became passe the next and companies folded.

Currently though, the world was C.W.'s oyster. He was magnanimous enough to not insist that everyone use his whole name, C.W. was sufficient. He was on the tall side. He always had brilliantly groomed hair and was a man who not only had a stylist for his hair but who also had a stylist for his beard, and they were two different people. He had a stylist for his body. He consulted a nutritionist—he was a man who was all about his appearance. He was also somebody who was all about being seen with the right people. Woe betide if you were not beautiful enough to appear with him. He did not, however, have Robert Richardson's charm. C.W. was good-looking enough and worked on ensuring that everything about male beauty was reflected in his body to the best that money could buy.

It was obvious who their visitor was as he walked into the building, and Bob leaned over to his cousin, "he looks like a Ken doll."

Fitz replied, "the spitting image, except is there a version with a beard?" Then they both strolled forward circumventing C.W. getting to the front reception desk to inquire about Pemberley Energy.

"Mr. Collins!" called out Fitzwilliam, "Mason Darcy," he held out his hand.

"C.W." replied the visitor putting his own in Fitz' hand. "And Mr. Richardson, rumor has it you are always a Bob and never a Robert." Mr. Collins laughed then as if it were a joke of some sort, and the cousins smiled, but they weren't quite sure what the joke was. There certainly were a lot of jokes about men named Bob, and Robert Richardson was often one given to telling them. He used a lot of them as pick-up lines in bars, but in this case he did not quite understand and only nodded.

Their guest insisted on driving. He had a 7 series BMW.

"We wouldn't have all fit in my Porsche. We are all too tall for anyone to fit in the back," said Bob.

"Rumor has it you've got a Beamer too," C.W. threw out to Fitz. Darcy wondered where the man gathered his information.

"Yes, only a 5 series, not a 7 series," answered Fitzwilliam.

"Don't know why you didn't splurge and get a top of the line," crowed their guest.

They went to Chantilly's, and Fitz wondered how much alcohol would appear at that business luncheon, and on a Monday as well.

"I have a number of VC friends who are hot about biofuel and funding a number of companies who are hot to get started in it," explained their host once they sat down to their meal.

He grilled them; information gathering, after all, was his business, and he wanted to know _their_ business. The nature of the patents they held and the nature of their licensing. The cousins were willing to share anything that was public information but held close to their chest anything that was a little more speculative. They made it slowly through lunch with their host doing most of the talking. Fitz had been right and a bottle of wine appeared. It was only their host who imbibed. His guests wondered about that as their host was also their driver.

C.W. spoke more to Bob than he did to Fitzwilliam, a fact which became obvious about halfway through lunch. Fitz wondered why C.W. was courting Bob. It became clearer when C.W. poured himself a second glass of wine.

"I am always looking to invest, and I have had a very good hit record. I did Amazon and Priceline and Netflix at the right time and ones like Illumina—they do DNA sequencing—but I still have my Apple stock and am not letting go of that! I think it is going to be the hottest thing since sliced bread," he laughed. "But I have heard tell you are quite the performer, Bob." C.W. whipped out his phone and pulled up a video with a performance of Bob with his band playing in a cheesy bar.

"Am I on YouTube?" asked Bob, who twisted his head to stare from C.W. to Fitzwilliam then back at the video.

"No, just a little research," said their host. "You look, not happy exactly, but content. Like you and your spirit animal are one," said C.W. as he watched the video.

Bob looked over at his cousin with a quick ' _is this guy crazy or had too much to drink_ ' look, but Fitzwilliam was looking at C.W.

"Why are you videotaping Bob?" asked Fitz.

"I suspect Bob would rather be doing this," and C.W.W. Collins shook the phone in his hand to indicate Bob's performance, "than being CFO in a company."

"I enjoy my band, to be sure," replied Bob Richardson. "I have had lessons in music since I was seven." He had a hard look on his face then, "but I wonder why it concerns you?"

"Do you want to sell out? You could do this full time." C.W. waved the phone up next to his cheek. "I can make a very competitive offer for your shares of Pemberley, Mr. Richardson."

It was as though a block of cold stone had fallen on the table between all of them. Fitzwilliam had come to the conclusion, at some point in the meal, that C.W. was going to make some sort of investment offer, but apparently Bob had not considered it. The cousins did not need to look at each other to know they did not want to sell to living Ken doll.

"I appreciate the offer, C.W.," said Robert Richardson, "but I am not ready to…move on at this time. My playing is just a little hobby. What gives my life meaning, to be sure, but sometimes we need something outside of work to make it worth it." He had been his usual playboy self through most of the luncheon, but somehow the offer got him to shed his skin and become his mother's son, the man of business (a man of finance), who was not willing to part with his family's concerns and their collective hard work, especially to such a man, and to an offer made at lunch.

"Well…I guess I figured you wrong. Not the playboy eager to be off _attempting_ to bed women, rather than accounting for license sales," said C.W. shaking his head "I don't often figure wrong."

Bob Richardson leaned back with an easier disposition. "I still have plenty of time for bedding now. Maybe the accounting is my side-job. But still. Not interested."

"Interesting, you have to work hard at that?" asked their host.

"They fall at my feet," Bob pulled his napkin up off of his lap and put it next to his plate. C.W.W. Collins looked over at Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy as though to dispute the truth of that statement. Such a horse-ugly face had to be lying, but the CEO of Pemberley Energy could only confirm his cousin's statement to C.W.'s consternation.

"Again, interesting," said C.W.W. Collins as though presented with information of a sort that did not add up in neat figures, and therefore made no sense to him. "Interesting," he began to bob his head up and down as he was thinking and calculating figures or scenarios in his head. He absent-mindedly pulled his napkin from his lap, then stood. "Ready to go?"

Apparently he had no need to wait for a check as the restaurant would bill him, or he had received the meal for free, but they left, following their host like ducklings. C.W. broke out of his reverie and became his talkative self, and they spoke of business in the valley as he drove them back to the office, apparently none the worse for his glass and a half of wine.

* * *

Bob was distracted as they walked back into the building. Fitz thought his cousin might wish to talk more, but Bob said he had some thinking to do and parted from him when they exited the elevator.

Fitz did not stare at Bob's back as he walked away, not in a public space, but he considered whether their rather forward host had given Bob Richardson more ideas to think over. He and Bob had briefly talked about whether Charles Bingley might buy out Bob's share of Pemberley Energy, and his cousin had seem open to the idea. But neither wanted this outsider, this super-investor, this gleaming, bleach-toothed businessman to come in. A man who only wanted to squeeze money out of his investments without truly understanding them. They had instinctively known they did not want his money.

Would Bob ever wish to sell out? Fitz had not broached the topic with Charles, but Bingley was a good fit, well-liked, and respected. If Bob _did_ want to move on, despite the aunts, Bingley was likely to fit into the culture of the company though they would need to hire a new CFO since Charles was a visionary, not an accountant.

He looked at his assistant sitting at her desk which made him consider he needed to get Liz's plane ticket for Vegas on Friday.

"Alex, can you send me my flight details for Friday?" he asked as he stopped at her desk. "You booked me the flight a number of weeks ago."

"Flight?" she glanced up from her computer almost in confusion. "L.A. with Bob. Oh, no, that's not for another two weeks. Vegas." She nodded her head. He wondered about her knowing about the trip to see Aunt Kate since he had booked that flight himself and had not put it on the company calendar.

"Yes," he replied. "I am adding someone. Send me the details so we can fly together," he explained and started to walk away.

"Is it Bob? Why not just let me book it, far easier, you know."

"No, it's not Bob," replied Fitz who stopped to look at her again. "Just send me the details," he repeated.

"Actually I booked through the service, so if you want seats together. I will need to book the ticket for you," she explained. "One of the sales women going with you?" she pressed.

"No." He mulled over letting her book the tickets, or whether he should buy Liz a ticket so Alex would be none the wiser, but he did not wish to have the two of them sitting apart. "I am taking my girlfriend with me."

"Your girlfriend!" her surprise was evident as her voice carried. "Is this an approved company expense?" she asked.

"You have my personal credit card on file," he narrowed his eyes at her. "Use that for her ticket, or if you need to re-book mine so we are both on the same flight, do it. I am not charging this to the company."

"I need her personal details for the ticket," she asked; her face calm, smooth but there was something underneath that hinted at rage.

"Liz Bennet," he answered.

"Happen to know her birthdate? I need that too. And is Liz short for something?"

He considered he _did_ _not know_ if it was short for something but did not wish to admit _that_ to his assistant. "Elizabeth," he threw out, "and her birthday is January 1, 1994."

"A bit young," she called out as she wrote down the details.

"Not your place to say," he replied, his teeth may have been clenched a bit.

She tapped her pen against a pad of paper then looked at him. "You have got to be kidding me, Mason. 1-1 as a birthdate? Look," she threw her pen on her desktop, "this girl is probably pulling the wool over your eyes. You probably met her online. Some dating site, right?"

"Alex, just book the damned ticket!" Fitz exclaimed then he walked into his office and closed the door almost shut but not entirely, lest he slam it.

Fitz sat at his desk then suddenly slammed a fist onto the desktop.


	18. That Ole Devil Called Love

Chapter Eighteen

"That Ole Devil Called Love"

 _Suppose I didn't stay and ran away  
_ _Wouldn't play  
_ _That devil what a potion he would brew  
_ _He'd follow me around  
_ _Build me up, tear me down  
_ _Till I'd be so bewildered  
_ _I wouldn't know what to do_

 _Might as well give up the fight again  
_ _I know darn well he'll convince me  
_ _That he's right again  
_ _When he sings that siren song  
_ _I just gotta tag along  
_ _With that ole devil called love_

For seven years there had been nothing in life for him. Nothing for him but work and responsibility: being a substitute parent, the leader of a company with all of those early battles, but with no reprieve in between. Then he met this woman who made him consider there was more to life, more than keeping his company afloat. His sister was happy in school, doing well. The company was on an even keel. But this woman had no time for him; he wanted more. Fitz felt it unfair of her, like she was keeping him at arm's length because of a high school romance which had gone sour. Why could she not see he was good, and worthy, worth her investment in him? Worth carving out more time for him?

He wanted to hold her in his arms again. He wanted to undress her again. He wanted her to whisper words to him in Italian, drive him mad with desire. Fitz pulled out his phone and checked, but a text he had sent to her earlier was still without a reply. She was only driving him mad with frustration. There was, at least, Vegas to look forward to. He wondered if she would whisper in Italian to him in their hotel room; he wondered if they would even make the conference, or if they might never leave the room at all.

His work suffered the rest of the day.

She later texted him back: _I am a perfectionist when it comes to my papers and I have too many to write plus damned projects_

 _Miss you_ He wrote in return almost as soon as he had received her text.

 _Miss you Fri be here all too soon_ Was her reply.

And that was it. All he got from her on Monday. She was not, apparently, really thinking of him, but of her schoolwork. She had not texted first that she missed him, but texted about her school, and her papers. Her first thoughts had not been about _him_ when all _he_ had been thinking and considering and breathing and dreaming was _her_ since leaving her house and her bed and her arms on Saturday morning.

On Tuesday, he did not walk or run or use his treadmill but only made his way from his bed to his shower and down to breakfast.

"You are early," said Yvonne. "I am not quite ready for you, besides the coffee."

"I didn't exercise," he explained then took his coffee to go sit on a couch. He did not wish to be scrutinized by his housekeeper. She watched him go then went back to creating an omelet for him. Fitz read through emails on his phone and did not notice the door open and close. A small figure came to sit next to him.

"Hi!" said Derek.

Fitzwilliam thought how much he did not want to deal with a small child just then. He sipped his coffee before saying, "hi."

"You look mad," said Derek.

"Derek!" called his mother. "Leave Mr. Mason alone."

"Are you mad?" pressed the boy.

"Grumpy," he admitted to his little father confessor.

"You need Benny," said Derek who was not heeding his mother's words. Benny had either followed Derek inside or was already inside with Yvonne. Derek patted the side of the couch to call his dog over.

"Derek don't have him jump on Mr. Mason as he'll get dog hairs on his trousers!" called Yvonne who flipped Fitz' omelet.

"Benny sit!" called out the little boy to the small dog. The little dog sat in front of them. "Lie down…Roll over…Shake." Derek had the dog perform the standard dog obedience tricks, none of which were remarkable, but Fitz had to admit what was remarkable was that a five year was attempting to cheer him up.

When Derek finally said, "wasn't that great?" Fitz had to reply, "truly remarkable," and he put an arm around the little boy's shoulders who pulled those shoulders up to his ears in pleasure then shrugged off Fitz' touch because he was too rough and tough a boy for such things.

Yvonne said his omelet was done, and Fitz turned to Derek to thank him for cheering him up before he ate and went to work, distracted from his disappointed thoughts, for a few minutes, at least.

* * *

Liz was struggling. She was so distracted with thinking about Fitz that her papers seemed to take her twice as long to frame in her mind, to sketch on paper, and then to flesh out on her computer. She was excited to think about having a trip to Vegas for the up-coming weekend. Fitz had not texted her with details about the trip, but she imagined it would be Friday to Sunday. Maybe it was on Saturday and Sunday? She really should clarify those points, but finals week often meant she went about on very little sleep, and her capacity for coping with anything outside of school was minimal. If their house did not have Ron in residence and considering things like groceries, even Charlotte and Brad would be lost as they, all three students, were zombies: a household of students who tried hard to stay on top of things but who never truly did.

Ron reported that the dog walking was going well. He loved Barkington the best, who was a smallish husky, as Ron (ever the outdoor enthusiast) had always wanted to try dog-sledding. Liz missed her four-footed friends more than she wanted to admit, though she missed her other morning companion even more.

They had had this wonderful night together and then were not to see each other for a week. Before, after their Friday dates, she and Fitz at least had their morning dates. Liz wondered how he was doing without her in the mornings; Ron said he had not seen him.

She had described him in such detail that her unofficial roommate had smiled rather broadly and asked what was going on and _how did this happen without my noticing?_ Ron had demanded that she fill in the details (with the promise of two home-cooked dinners in return). It had been a fair trade as she had mostly been nibbling on corn chips and salsa for two days as she struggled with the end of the quarter.

Ron was a romantic and had ooh'd and aah'd about her details of meeting Fitz while dog walking and their subsequent dates. She became tight-lipped when it came to their last one though.

"So where did you go last Friday?" he had asked.

She bit her lip. "It was my turn to pay."

"College student paying... so you did fast food?" prompted Ron.

"No," she shook her head. "I cooked."

"You made him dinner, _here_?" asked Ron, with a dramatic turn of his head.

"Yeah, I made stir-fry," she admitted.

"How'd it go? You're a better cook than Charlotte or Brad."

"He was rather impressed," she said. "He can't cook at all; and was most appreciative."

" _Appreciative_ , huh?" called Ron, and he grinned. "Soooo…Brad and I were gone, did Charlotte eat with you?"

"No, Charlotte had that study session. I'm not ready to introduce him to all of you. You three would jump on top of him. It's bad enough you are grilling me."

Ron brought up both his arms, put his elbows on the table, and leaned over. "So it was just you two…at home…in the house."

"Well, Morgan was here," she pointed out.

"Did Morgan like him?" he asked.

"She hated him," admitted Liz.

"No accounting for Morgan Le Fey's tastes," he said.

"Morgan only likes me and you," she nodded.

"Actually she only likes our bedroom," pointed out Ron. "So how late did he stay?"

"You're being rather forward, aren't you?" Liz tried to put him off.

"It's my job," he grinned.

"He spent the night," she finally admitted.

"Well…that's better than Charlotte has ever done. Why didn't you go to his house if he's such a rich dude? Must have better digs than we've got."

"I don't know," she said.

"I can't imagine doing it in our cramped, dusty condo the first time. He's got to have a great house; a shower built for two, probably a spa tub and a bed with room to maneuver."

"Why would we need all that stuff?" Liz frowned.

"Okay, I worry about you, sweet girl." Ron's head shake was dramatic.

"He invited me to Vegas for the weekend, after finals are done," she offered.

"Get out of here!" Ron's hands slapped down on the table. "Wait a minute, doesn't that seem a little too soon?"

"Do you think so?" she asked. "I…maybe I have been so turtle-in-a-shell for so long that I'm wanting it all and enjoying his company while I can get it, and do you think that it's too much?"

"Just a little advice," said Ron. "You were burned before. And I get the sense that it was because you jumped in, you were impulsive, maybe?" He grinned, his teeth in a wide emoji-like grin. "Are you maybe doing the same thing? Agreeing to go to Vegas after three dates? That's a pretty big leap."

"We have all of our mornings we've spend together. It's not like we've only had the three dates. And he's pretty crazy about me."

"Well, how do you feel about him?" he asked.

"I think I am pretty darn interested," she answered with a grin.

" _We_ love you, Liz," said Ron. "We just don't want you to be hurt. But, Vegas, huh? _What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas_. That is a weekend I can't wait to hear about."

"Wait a minute," she said. "If it happens in Vegas, it stays in Vegas. It means I don't have to tell."

"Damn! I suppose not," he said. "Well, have fun."

"I will," she assured him.

* * *

On Wednesday, he tried to entice her away from her studies.

 _Do you have any time for a quick bite?_ He texted her as soon as he got to work.

Her response was quick that morning. Fitz was not sure if her usual schedule applied, but Wednesdays had been her less busy day.

 _Might, at computer, polishing project, more later_ Came back.

He thought that was rather vague, and threw his phone down on his desk rather harder than he intended.

"Mason?" called his assistant.

"Yes," he answered, looking up quickly and with an edge to his voice.

"Woah," she said, holding a hand up dramatically. "Fight with the girlfriend?" He made no response, not even a head movement or a response with his eyes. "Just passing over Elizabeth's ticket for Friday. I had to move your seat, but you're sitting together." She moved forward to place the printout in front of him then retreated back to the doorway. "Let me know if you need anything else."

He made no reply but looked down at the flight information. There were their names on paper together. Fitz reached for his phone and texted her again. _3:50 flight on Friday, that OK?_

 _Yes, done by then_ Was her reply.

He hoped she would send him more, tell him she was excited, at least say 'thank you.' But there was nothing more.

Fitzwilliam worked through the morning without encountering anyone, having shut his door. Liz did not text back, and he held out hope she would eat lunch with him but worried about bothering her again lest she be taking an actual final. His mood did not improve by the time lunch had come and gone. Alex would no longer be bringing him anything, and Bob had been quieter and more focused on work since their luncheon with C.W.W. Collins. Fitz wondered if Bob had found new purpose in his work by actually considering selling out.

By mid-afternoon, Fitz was starving, so he braved opening his door to search for something to eat. Alex was not at her desk which surprised him. He trailed over to Bob's office and found him squinting at his computer as though the columns of numbers were too small.

"You don't need glasses do you?" asked Fitzwilliam.

"No, just wondering about licensing revenue and how we are to maintain our business model. I think we need to consider purchasing patents; we can't always innovate." Bob glanced up from his screen to look at Fitzwilliam. "What the hell is wrong with you? You were the cat who got the cream when I saw you Monday. I was sure you'd finally slept with your Liz, but now you look like she's sent you a text and dumped you."

"I'm hungry," said Fitz.

"You sound like a teenage boy in the middle of a growth spurt," said Bob who reached into a drawer and pulled out a wrapped sports protein bar which he placed on the edge of the desk. "Best I can do for you." He used a finger and pointed rather dramatically at the single seat in his office then pointed that finger down in slow motion to indicate Fitzwilliam should sit.

Fitz took the bar then sat in the chair but not before closing the office door. "I am frustrated," he began.

"Company business or is this your love life?" asked Bob who clicked save on his file.

"Would I shut the door if it was company business?" he quipped as he unwrapped an end of the bar and took a bite.

"Discretion is important, maybe you are planning a lay-off?" answered Bob.

"Liz is frustrating me," said Fitzwilliam.

"Maybe you _haven't_ done the deed yet," said Bob.

"Can we not talk about sex and get back to the relationship advice?" growled Fitz, and tore off another piece of the protein bar.

"All ears," replied Bob who slumped in his chair.

"She's a college student," began Fitz.

"Wait, I thought she was a dog-walker?" he sat up quickly to look at his cousin.

"She does that to help pay for college," explained Fitz.

"Where's she go?" Bob relaxed back again into his chair.

"Don't know."

"You don't know?" Bob raised his head in dramatic fashion.

"She said she had been burned in the past so we agreed to first names and I've not asked a lot of questions. But how do you…move forward in such a scenario? I accidentally discovered her last name on a magazine at her house the other night, so I've stumbled on _some_ information."

"At least you've been to her house, that's a step then," agreed Bob. "But frustrated?"

"Yes, but…I am rather…let's say, _interested_ in her, but I think she is taking her time. And with the college thing she has no time for _me_ ," he tore into the bar with another ferocious bite.

"You're getting on in years, Mason. A college student is pushing it," cautioned his cousin.

"I'm crazy about her, Bob."

"I can see. Maybe if you just sleep with her it'll fix that, one way or the other. It often does for me," he offered.

"Too late," sighed Fitzwillliam.

"Oh," Bob paused, "somehow you don't seem like a man who's fought the sweet fight," he looked with more concern at his cousin.

"She knows Italian, Bob. Have you ever had a woman whisper words of love to you in Italian?" Fitz leaned forward a little as he spoke.

"No. Sounds…entrancing. And you sound like you've had a spell cast on you," he crossed his arms over his chest. "You have it pretty bad, the goofy face and all," said Bob.

"But she doesn't let me in, and she doesn't make time for me!" Fitzwilliam slapped the edge of Bob's desk, and the half-eaten protein bar fell off of his knee and onto the floor.

"It's the only one I have, better pick it up quick, six-second rule," said Bob. Fitzwilliam leaned over to get the bar. He had, at least, kept it encased in its wrapper.

"I invited her to lunch, but she hasn't bothered to text me back yes or no," said Fitz and took another bite.

"Actions speak louder than words," said Bob. "If she isn't making time for you, she doesn't think that much of you."

"I am so far gone, Bob," Fitz shook his head.

"I can tell."

"I asked her to go to Vegas with me for the energy conference," he confessed.

"Is that why you're moping, 'cause she said no?" asked Bob.

"No," Fitz shifted in his chair and took another bite. "She said yes."

"I'm confused then," Bob sat up to look at Fitzwilliam Darcy, CEO of a company, and yet perplexed and frustrated lover of Liz the dog walker/college student.

"With her school schedule she can only fit me in this weekend." He took the last bite then crumpled up the wrapper. "But I want more. I've been stuck doing nothing but running this company for over seven years. I want companionship."

"I'm not enough?" another quip from Bob.

"I want Liz."

"You have it bad," said Bob. "Again, actions speak louder than words. Perhaps there is something else going on with her? Seems like she should be able to see you more than once a week if she was more interested in you." Bob sat up straighter in his chair. "I hate to tell you this, but sometimes, even though you think you really…like…someone, it just doesn't work out because you are at different places in life. Someone likes the other more, or someone isn't ready for commitments, or someone is moving into a different place in their life and their lives aren't compatible."

"I hadn't realized how ready I was to not be working all the time, and to consider having someone in my life, to find someone to share things with besides the next quarterly report," said Fitz.

"I had that figured out years ago…looking for love (of a sort). I just have never found it. But I enjoy the hunt," said Bob.

"Thanks for lunch," said Fitzwilliam. "And the advice."

* * *

She got the video game project turned in. Liz rather liked her sweet little storyline and fleshed-out characters and world, and touched on the amount of dialog the professor required. Overall, she thought she did well, though she would never repeat such a course.

But this damned text mining project was proving to be something else. It had been an interesting class, how to use modern software to glean for information from all sorts of sources. Some people analyzed modern data to look at things like the recurrence of under-reported adverse drug reactions. Or others considered ways to mine for nuggets to suggest the best up and coming stocks.

Liz had downloaded a number of books by nineteenth century authors, both male and female, to analyze their choice of words and how they characterized women in their stories. She bit off far more than she could chew, and Liz struggled with the project more than with any paper or project she had tackled since going to college.

She had stayed up until past two in the morning, finally falling asleep, and then woke up when she heard Ron return from walking the dogs and went back to work. Fitz had texted not much later to ask about lunch. She had texted a hopeful reply because she had _really_ _wanted_ to be done.

But the write-up of her analysis eluded her, despite three cups of coffee and the happier news, again from Fitz, that he had booked her ticket to Vegas. It gave her something to look forward to while she waded through data she could not get a handle on and a paper which, though perfectly outlined on Sunday (when she had still been walking around with her head in the clouds because of the euphoria from their night together), but which now eluded her.

Liz had until 5:00 that day to finish the project, and she suffered through some of the most difficult writer's block she had experienced as a student, finally settling for _getting it done_ rather than being as inspired as she would have liked. Like the video games project, she felt as if she were settling for second-tier work. But she sent it in with fifteen minutes to spare.

Ron had promised a second dinner that night as well, but Liz made a peanut butter and honey sandwich, brushed her teeth, and slept. She missed Fitz' text asking her if she was home and could he call?

* * *

Fitzwilliam Darcy packed up at 5:00 on the dot. He was still hungry. Hope still resided that he might persuade Liz to swing by and eat with him; he was certain Yvonne could easily cook for two or that they could find some quick place to eat so he could see her for even thirty minutes.

"You aren't going home are you?" asked Alex who called over to him from her chair. She stood and walked over to stand in the doorway. "Wednesday is your work-late night."

"Hoping to have dinner with Liz," he said then he wished he had not, but it was done. He angrily tapped the button to turn off his monitor.

"I did a search for 'Elizabeth Bennet.' It sounds like such a common name, but not a lot of them out there." Alex looked around the room but not at him. "Most of them are old: old ladies, doddering types, or already dead. I couldn't find any young ones, _her age_. Just thought you should know. She's pulling the wool over your eyes, Mason. Only out for what she can get from you, probably. I am sure she isn't what she seems, who you think she is. "

Fitz watched as Alex turned away. He went back to his desk. He picked up his computer bag, shoved his phone in his pocket, and jingled his keys in his hands. Was Liz not who she said she was? He had been to her house though, she did _exist_. It was not as if she was, as Alex implied, an entirely fictitious Internet person.

As soon as Fitz got home, he texted Liz if he could call her then went to search for Yvonne. His housekeeper was surprised to see him and said she had not really planned on a meal, but could throw something together for him. He looked at her waddling frame and decided he was well able to fend for himself and said he could 'make do.' Liz did not text a response. Fitz felt frustrated and neglected, and then grew angry that she would not even take the time to call or respond.

He was mad, and he could not help but be mad. He was mad at his assistant for putting the idea in his head. He was mad at Liz for not texting him back: what did it take but to pick up the phone and simply reply _I'm busy, I will talk to you tomorrow?_ Was Alex motivated out of jealousy? _Probably_ , it was entirely likely she was (he had to talk to HR about that situation more), but that did not preclude that she might be correct. Alex had obviously done a Google search on Liz.

He and Bob had once joked about doing a search about their own names and how common Bob Richardson was but that Mason Darcy was unique. Fitz was likely the only Fitzwilliam Darcy. He thought it odd that she was the only Elizabeth Bennet; there had to be many others. He knew her birthdate, details about her and her family, but what if that had been some sort of…story? Did women make up such elaborate stories?

She had joked about being the daughter who was to marry and have children because she had no ambition. He thought about the women he had come across who were simply looking for a rich man, someone else to pay the bills, and maybe Liz was like one of those women, but playing some elaborate but more subtle game than he had ever considered.

He went to bed hating himself, hating that he had all these unanswered questions, questions that he had had about Liz from day-one that still rumbled around inside. He considered that their relationship should not be like this. It should be about discovery, being open and honest with each other, not about second-guessing, and having a box full of questions which he kept adding to. One which was spilling over because there were so many unanswered ones. Was this more of a relationship of lust and physical attraction which would burn out? Was it a relationship of illusion and not of substance?

* * *

Liz woke up about three in the morning with her head clearer after her unhappy attempt to finish that project, knowing that she had a final read-through on her Shakespeare & Dickens paper, there was the same with her poetry anthology, and her Three Cities paper as well. At least with her poetry there was no ultimate project; it was simply a matter of compiling and formatting the collection of poems and then sending them in.

She went to sit at her desk and found her phone and Fitz' text message. He had sent a note shortly after she had collapsed in bed. She thought how much she would have liked to have talked to him and discuss her struggles with her project and her papers. She did not think he would want her to call right then, in the middle of the night, so she worked on formatting her poetry. She eschewed any caffeine in case her body decided to go back to sleep.

It was the last day and then tomorrow she would be going to Vegas. The trip was such a treat that she could not help but think how excited she was. She had never done anything spontaneous, never allowed herself such a luxury as celebrating the end of a quarter by going anywhere or doing anything fun. It had always been work and finding extra work. Ron had lined up shifts at The Trading Post for her because there were a number of students who worked there and wanted time off. Liz was more than willing to pick up extra hours after she walked the dogs in the morning. But work was not until _after_ she came back from Vegas, a wonderful respite with Fitz by her side.

She did not realize she had fallen asleep until she woke up to the sounds of her roommates moving about; her head was on her desk and her back smarted a little from leaning forward at an odd angle. Someone was making coffee, and she thought that would be her next priority.

Charlotte came over, "You okay?"

"Yeah," she yawned. "I woke up all inspired in the middle of the night, but guess I fell asleep again."

"Coffee's almost done. I am completely finished and heading home for break. Are you going to be okay?" asked Charlotte.

"Oh yeah," said Liz. "I have plans you know."

"I know; I can't wait to hear all about it when I get back." Char had an interesting smile on her face.

"Say hi to everyone in Merriton for me—just in case you sneak out while I am still sipping coffee," said Liz.

She had that sense of being so close, that sense of inevitability. No matter what, the quarter was almost over. A clock was ticking away the last hours and minutes, and then she would be done. The pressure of school would be relieved for a week before the next quarter started up again.

Liz supposed she should start looking for something to do in the summer, some work, but as she had considered in the middle of the night, she merely wanted to enjoy herself this coming weekend.

After a half a cup of coffee and a couple pieces of toast she felt much improved, and Liz sat down to text Fitz.

 _Looking forward to tomorrow, but still long day today_

He did not reply immediately like he usually did. She supposed he was busy with meetings and with other businessman things to take care of. She worked on polishing her Shakespeare & Dickens paper, sent off her poetry piece and finished the Three Cities paper. She thought it one of the best essays she had ever written, and was happy with her final read-through. Perhaps she might be done by five, and she and Fitz could have dinner that evening and still run away together tomorrow?

* * *

Aunt Kate called him to ask how he was going to handle the anniversary of his father's death, which was Monday, and whether she ought to come up that weekend to be with him.

"Seven years is often a difficult hurdle to pass," she argued. "One gets complacent, but then things, issues come out of nowhere to bother you. You think you are over someone's death but it still affects you, gets to you."

"Aunt Kate," he hoped to cut her off, "I am okay; I am fine. I won't even be in town this weekend. I've a conference in Vegas so don't worry about leaving your little castle. Bob and I'll be down for Easter like always."

"Vegas?" The uncertainty in her voice about such a location was evident. " _I am sure_ that place will do you no good. You need friends, _family_ , to bolster your sagging spirits."

"It's a work conference. There'll be people I know. I won't be thinking about Dad at all," he assured her.

"How could you not be thinking about your father?" her voice rose. He feared she was simply in an argumentative mood. "It will be the day of his passing; you should do something to honor him on Monday."

"I'll be back by Monday," he assured her. "Monday is the anniversary. I'll consider something; maybe Bob will drive me out to the cemetery." He held his breath for a count of four then let it out. "But you need not fly up."

"He left you all alone the day he deliberately stepped in front of that train," she said, changing the tone of her voice. "My brother was always an odd one. It is Ellen who was the smart one; she's the one who did all the backbone work. _She_ really founded the company. _Ellen_ was Pemberley Energy. William just had the ideas and the vision."

"I am okay. I am fine," he repeated in an attempt to get her to both shut up about his father and to not follow through on coming up north from San Diego. She rarely left her home, but if she decided she needed to come, he would not be able to get away for the weekend. Katherine Burger would get her way, insist she stay at his house, insist he stay home with her, and _insist_ he follow her prescribed idea of how to honor his father (which would change as she swayed from blaming her brother for taking his life to idolizing him for the man she wanted to remember him as). If he was to see Liz tomorrow, Fitz would have to agree to everything Aunt Kate said today. Her next words made him grind his teeth together.

"Georgia. I don't know why she had to run away and leave you. Is she to come back on break, do that graveside visit with you?" pressed Aunt Kate.

"No," this was not going well. "She's not coming home for spring break." He did not want to lie about Georgie's true plans, but his sister should be flying to Florida the next day per the last email from her.

"I still do not understand why you let her go to school so far away from us," said Aunt Kate.

"It's where she wanted to study," he said quietly.

"Other local schools have the same subjects," she countered.

"But not the same atmosphere. It's not simply about the major, but the campus and culture, the people. Georgie is happy where she is," he insisted.

"Is Bob going with you? To this conference?" she pressed.

"No, he has other plans," he answered.

"Oh! What is he up to?" asked Kate.

"You will need to ask him," Fitzwilliam did not want to throw Bob to the dogs, but he wanted to get his aunt off of the phone.

"So no one to care for you, be with you this weekend or on Monday? I really think I should fly up."

"I will be at a business conference. Talking energy!" he raised his voice and was certainly sharp at the end.

" _That_ sounds a little more like you," she said. "You've were a little too mopey before. Now you're more CEO-like. Perhaps I shouldn't worry about your after-all." There was a pause, and he held his breath hoping she would hang up and let him get about his day.

"Well…I did have that dinner and charity event with the Morrisons on Saturday. I should hate to miss it. There is often such great wine."

"Yes?" he prompted.

"Do say 'love you,' to Bob from your Auntie Kate for me." And she hung up.

He opened a desk drawer and shoved his phone inside after silencing it. If she called back he could claim to have been in meetings and that he could not get away.

It was not until the late afternoon that he retrieved his phone to guiltily check and see if she had called (Aunt Kate never texted). He had missed Liz' text from that morning.

 _Hi, long day for me too_ He replied.

He also texted: _I will swing by and pick you up tomorrow about 1:30. I am looking forward to our weekend together_

 _Can't wait_ She replied.

He and Charles had dinner plans. He wondered how late she would work before she was free: did she have finals up until they left? Fitz felt calmer and happier than he did the evening before. He was also a day closer to that weekend with Liz. If he was distracted at dinner with Charles, he figured his friend would forgive him. In the past, there were many dinners where all they ever spoke about was Charles' current date or girlfriend, so for Mason Darcy to wax on a little about his anticipated weekend had to be forgiven.


	19. Mack the Knife

Chapter Nineteen

"Mack the Knife"

 _Fancy gloves, oh, wears old MacHeath, babe  
_ _So there's never, never a trace of red_

 _Now on the sidewalk, whoo sunny morning, un huh  
_ _Lies a body just oozin' life, eek  
_ _And someone's sneakin' 'round the corner  
_ _Could that someone be Mack the Knife?_

Liz forgave him for being busy and taking all day to text her back that Thursday, assuming he was clearing his plate, so to speak. He might only have free time for her on the weekend. She wondered how much time he would be spending at the conference, and how much time they would be spending together.

She almost texted him back to ask if he was free for dinner since she had finished everything, had sent in her papers and project to her professors via the appropriate channels. But she wondered if he was working late that Thursday night, as he had often mentioned. Perhaps he had to do some Mr. Business Man sort of thing for this conference, and she would only be in the way?

Sometimes, Liz felt she did not know enough about Fitz and thought she should ask more questions. Like they should sit down one day and play the Twenty Questions game but ask really personal questions about each other so there would not be these holes, these gaps, which made her wonder. But she was tired enough to consider just going to bed, and Ron had promised her another dinner. They ate together then she took a long shower and crashed.

* * *

Liz could not wait to see Fitz, even though her body protested at having to be up; it protested at the way she had tortured it that week to finish her studies. But she would see Fitz when she walked the dogs, then she would go home to pack for Vegas. There would be the flight to talk to him, and the taxi ride into town, and dinner, and their hotel, and everything afterward. No ten minutes here or an hour there and having to drive home to see her mother and pretend she was not dating someone.

The dogs were collected, and she headed to that first corner where she always met up with Fitz. He was not waiting for her. Liz paused at the intersection and looked up and down the street without spotting him. He had said he sometimes came from a side street a little farther up, but she did not want to back track as she wondered if he might have gone a different way. She wondered, for the first time, if he knew she was to walk the dogs today?

Her posse of dogs became restless then Orion and Sirius started barking and pulling on their leads with Barkington and Gidget joining in. Prince Rudolph rarely barked. Benny came running straight at their group, his legs carrying him happily to them as he ran to greet all of them. He did not have a leash trailing behind him, and Liz suspected that he had not escaped from Fitz, but had likely escaped from home.

"Benny," she called. He raced around her, but she had no way to catch him. His little feet maneuvered him out of her reach as she knelt down in an attempt to entice him to her. He happily kept out of her reach and made the dogs in her hands strain at their leads. Liz gave up and stood, the dogs not cooperating and pulling her off to one side; she lost her balance and had to right herself.

She watched as Benny ran off, back up the street; Gidget barked at his retreating form. Liz wondered if he would return home or wander the streets more. She and her posse set off to follow. At the next intersection, rather than turning to make their loop, they continued on, following the Chihuahua who occasionally stopped to turn and stare at them as if ensuring he had their attention. He ran forward on the packed gravel beside the road with hedges and trees giving no true views of the houses on either side.

Then there was a part not covered by shrubbery and hidden by tall trees. On one side there were merely waist-high bushes and a house peered out at her. Across from it was a metal fence with bushes similar to the others as if the two neighbors had planted them in concert. Benny disappeared under the railing and between some bushes. This street was one she never walked down as her path had always looped her around this section of the road in order to add a little bit of time and distance to her walk.

Liz looked at what she assumed was Fitz' house. It was two stories but long and sprawling, definitely the house of a rich man. She and the dogs walked to the pedestrian gate, which was locked, but had a curving path leading to a front door with an arched eave over it. There was a small expanse of lawn, not too large in these days of drought, many scrubby looking bushes and some bright flowers. He must have a gardener to tend to his plants.

It was quite a different house than the over one hundred year old Merriton Manor that had housed generations of Merriton men: a Victorian creation all fancy woodwork, wallpaper, but with designer furniture within. Benny ran across the yard to the far side of the house. Liz heard a noise and saw a woman there. The driveway ran up the right side of the property, and Liz guessed the garage must be there though it faced to the side, not towards the street. She wondered if this woman was one of Fitz' staff members, coming to work, but the woman heard Benny bark and stepped around from the garage and onto the lawn to call to the dog.

"Benny! You had mommy worried sick!" Liz could see she was very pregnant. The woman leaned down awkwardly to scoop up the Chihuahua in her arms. "I hate when you get out. You are a bad dog!" She hugged the dog as she scolded him.

"Mommy?" a voice called. A small boy came into view as well, "did Benny come home?"

"Yes, our Benny is home so we don't have to get in the car and go search for him. Come on, let's go finish breakfast and then get you off to school." The pair walked back around the corner of the house and out of sight.

Liz felt as if her blood had stopped circulating and pooled in her gut and her legs. She could not move as though part tree—as though she had been planted. She considered all the times Fitz had talked about how Benny had been the only decent dog _in his house_. Sure, Jack was _his_ dog, and Cherie was his sister's, but Benny was the only decent dog. He had failed to mention who owned Benny, but apparently Benny belonged to his wife. His _pregnant wife_ , who was too pregnant to walk the dog so he was doing her a favor by walking _her_ dog. Or, perhaps, the dog belonged to _his son_.

A cramping in her gut set her free from her paralysis as a sort of sickness hit her, and Liz finally moved forward, past the gate, moving down past the railings to where that driveway ended, and she could see one of the garage door bays was open. The pair and the dog were not there any longer though. They were inside, having breakfast apparently.

Liz kept walking, in a daze, though her stomach and bowels knotted and unknotted as she considered what she had seen. Benny was that woman's dog. That woman lived at that house. Fitz had said Benny was his dog. _She was his wife, that was his child_. Her feet got the better of her then, and she began to run. The dogs thought that was a grand game and most of them barked as they ran.

She stopped to drop off first one then another dog as she did so in a complete daze. The cramping inside became acute and profound then something gave way, unraveled or unhinged, and tears came as she made her way to her car. She could not see by the time she was sitting inside as her tears came hard and stinging, as the cramping moved to her heart, constricting it, constricting her lungs as breathing became painful.

It is one thing to feel betrayed in a relationship because you did not live up to some standard like Kevin had in his family. Both Merriton sons were searching for the ideal trophy wife because they were going to be rich men. Connor Merriton, the father, had divorced his wife when she became too old and fat and ugly. Connor Merriton now dallied with younger women.

But apparently Fitz was dallying with her, second-tier Liz, because he had a wife he considered ugly and fat because she was pregnant. They already had another child. Once his wife had the baby he would, no doubt, dump Liz and return to the wife. His wife would take advantage of that workout room and become thin and attractive again.

It hurt and it hurt terribly. It was a repeat all over again of what she had suffered three years before. Today was the day after finals like it had been the day after graduation. It was to have been a day of happiness with Fitz and it was, instead, a day of madness, utter crushing madness and despair and heartbreak, so she wept. She wept until she thought her lungs would collapse, her guts would sink into the floor of the car, until her head felt so heavy she did not feel she was safe.

It was still early; there were few people around. Sitting on a street in Atherton was wounding to her. He was too close, this was _his_ territory though her emotions were dissipating, flushed to her periphery. She felt she did not want to go home to Palo Alto. Home had associations. _He_ had been there. Liz was not certain which roommates would be around. But going there was certainly better than going to her parents, returning to Merriton, and she could not sit in her car on a street in Atherton and cry all day.

Her stomach roiled as she pushed upon the front door of her condo, but she had managed to drive home without tears. But she thought as soon as she stepped inside how much she did not want to be there. She walked to the doorway of her bedroom and pain swelled up, and tears came again as she thought about that delightful Friday a week ago when Fitz had been there. She put a hand out to steady herself as she dropped her keys on the floor.

"Liz?" called a voice.

She could only stand with her face scrunched up, as her stomach cramped, her chest ached, and she cried, swaying in the doorway despite a hand on the doorframe.

"Liz!" it was Ron coming closer. A tentative hand touched her shoulder. "What's happened?"

"He's married, Ron."

"Oh my god! I thought you'd been attacked." He grabbed her into a hug. "Liz…just cry." Ron turned her so she could nestle against his shoulder as she stood with her arms dangling down, her eyes pinched tight in an attempt to _not cry_ which made it worse. Ron rocked her a little in his arms as she wept, but he made no other attempt to stop her until that well of emotion died down, and she could move her head again, move her arms to return the hug. Ron pulled his arms up to pat her on the back.

"Want to talk, or just cry more?" he asked.

"Coffee, I want coffee," she answered.

"Okay," he kept one hand around her, drawing her away from her bedroom and down the few paces to the kitchen where he gently pushed her into one of the chairs. Apparently he had already made himself some coffee, so he poured her a cup then sat across from her.

Liz sipped and sighed. Then she realized she was holding her breath and had to take in and let out a huge breath.

"Your…friend. He's married?" prompted Ron.

"His dog got out, and I chased it back to his house. He lives in Atherton, but I knew that. But his wife…his _pregnant_ wife was there, and his little boy. Out front…" She had been staring down at the table as she relived the scene in her mind, but she looked up at Ron. "They were about to go search for the dog."

"I am so sorry, Liz," he said. "We love you." She thought about her unofficial roommate, how he had been a fixture in her life for the three years she'd been in school and maybe she had not appreciated him as much as he valued her.

"Thank you, Ron."

"So what are you going to do? Call him up and rant about what a bastard he is to his face?" he asked.

"I am feeling too raw right now. I feel like I want to hide away in a cupboard or a closet. I can't go home to Mom and Dad. I don't actually want to tell my sisters—somehow I feel like they would tell me 'I told you so' or make out somehow that this is a pattern I am doomed to repeat…" she started crying again, confused, and not making sense. Ron reached over to press her hands around her coffee mug.

"I think the hiding away idea sounds grand," he said. "It's why I like to get outdoors, go camping, or hiking, that's my way of hiding from things. But I do appreciate a blanket and a couch, which is where I was this morning. A cupboard to hide away in, close the door, dark and quiet can be nice. Or your little closet? Maybe you can make a little nest in there?" His eyes twinkled.

"I am not sure I want to stay here, since he's been here." She took a long slurp of coffee then choked.

"I take it you're not going to Vegas then?"

"No!" she cried.

"Charlotte's gone home for the break, but Brad and I will take good care of you," he smiled and nodded his head in a fatherly sort of way.

"Thanks," she replied, and slumped a little in her chair, "I appreciate that."

They both took long pulls of coffee.

"I was to work at The Trading Post all next week," Liz sat up a little.

"Want to see if you couldn't start this weekend?" asked Ron.

"No, I will still fill in. I…I just thought of going to San Francisco for a day or two, to see Aunt Alice."

"Will she care for you better than I can?" he looked worried.

Liz smiled at his concerned face. "Probably not as good of a job, she can't cook, but it gets me away from a bed that has…associations."

"I totally get that," said Ron.

The more Liz thought about it, the more she wanted to get away, to run away from Fitz, from his wife, from Atherton, and dog-walking, from her house where he had left memories (had she even washed the sheets?), and to see someone who would care for her, if only for a day or two.

"Can you drop me off at the train station before you go to work?" she asked.

"Only if you are a good little girl and assure me you will eat breakfast before you go," said Ron.

She packed a bag rather than eat, and Ron ran her to the nearest train station to catch a commuter train to San Francisco. Liz was lucky to find one of the little single seats up high and sat numb, without thought or emotion for the forty-five minute ride up the peninsula to San Francisco.

She exited the Caltrains station and found the new light rail train she needed. While her aunt's business lay west of where she currently stood, Liz had to take a train east, up and around the South Beach area before she got to Market Street where she transferred again, finally heading west. Alice's shop was in Haight Ashbury, and Liz got off the second train on Duboce Avenue to walk the last little section, up to **Alice's Attic**.

It was just shy of noon when Liz walked into her aunt's shop. Her Aunt ran a used clothing store, selling vintage clothing and accessories. At one time, she had tried to only sell items from the 1960s but anything before the 1990s was considered 'vintage' these days as even the '80s were in vogue.

"Liz, what a surprise," said Aunt Alice, who looked at her unexpected visitor as the shop bell rang.

"He's married!" Liz felt her emotions bubbling up inside as she stared at that familiar face. She stopped just inside the doorway; her aunt appeared as if busy with a display.

"Who's married?" asked her aunt turning to examine her more closely.

"Fitz!" cried Liz.

"Who's Fitz?" asked Alice Gardiner.

"His wife is pregnant!" Tears started to leak down from the inside corners of her eyes.

"Fitz's wife?"

One lady in the store decided that this was more interesting and turned to listen; turned away from the collection of hats she had been trying on in front of a mirror.

"He has another child, a little boy," cried Liz, who blinked as the tears, which began to come more heavily, spilled down her cheeks now.

"What haven't you shared with me, Liz?" cried her aunt in return as she moved to stand in front of her niece.

"He was just using me for the sex!" Liz dropped her bag on the floor and put her hands up over her head and covered her face with her arms.

Another woman in the store put down an armful of clothes over one of the grotesque purple velvet chairs to look at them.

"There's a lot to talk about, and Eden doesn't come in until two," said her aunt, who reached down to pick up the bag. "Why not sit in the back while you wait for me to free up my schedule?"

The office was tiny, more storeroom than office. Alice was tidy and kept pathways between the boxes, and had clean-lined furniture which was in contrast to the vintage items in the store.

"I have to be on the floor, so sit and cry," said her aunt. "Here are the tissues," she pulled a box of them down from a shelf. "I'll check on you when I can," and she hustled back out to check on her two customers.

Alice Gardiner was Uncle Phil's estranged wife. It was a complicated relationship, aunt and niece, since Alice had married _into_ the family, and by rights, should have been ostracized from it when Alice and Phil's marriage hit the rocks. But she had been a loving aunt to her three nieces and always kept in touch, even when she and her husband had separated fourteen years before.

It was the No-Show Christmas, when the Bennets had sat and waited and waited for Uncle Phil and Auntie Alice to come so they could open their presents, but they had never showed up. Minerva would not let the Bennet girls open any of their Christmas presents until the guests arrived. The girls had been excited, then anxious, then mad, eventually there had been tantrums and hair-pulling between all three, a once-only event where all three of them had been uncontrollable. Thank goodness for Nonna.

Liz sat in that office and cried even harder then considering the quiet, warm arms of her Italian grandmother who had helped to calm three little girls who just wanted to open their Christmas presents while her mother and her grandmother Angelica argued and prayed because no one could find either Phil or Alice. Eventually, their father and Nonna had let them open their presents. Later, Aunt Alice had called her mom _to explain._ The grown-ups had talked a lot, and the kids had been banished to a separate table for dinner then sent to bed early. Given everything that had occurred, Liz and her sisters had each fallen right to sleep with a coveted toy clutched in their arms.

Liz pulled tissue after tissue from the box but finally rode through that wave of despair and pain and calmed herself. Liz really wished for just one more hug from Nonna. She also began to consider what she would tell her sisters, how much of the truth she wanted to share or whether she would simply say, 'it didn't work out.'

Her phone buzzed. It was just shy of one o'clock, and she stared at the screen. A text from Fitz. He was still out there, despite her grief of the past few hours; she had not contacted him in any way. Not called him to rant at him, as Ron had suggested. Liz unlocked her phone and pulled up her contact for him and considered doing that, but she also felt so…raw. She had taken Jane to task for not being able to confront her TA and her professor, yet Liz felt she did not have the energy, just then, to speak to him.

 _I will be by 1:30 to pick u up_ Said his text.

She stared at the note. What sort of man cheats on his pregnant wife? Leaves a little boy for the weekend to take a lover to Las Vegas? That there were other people involved made it even worse than her breakup with Kevin. Though with Kevin, it was not a break-up. Kevin had used a hatchet to sever their relationship in no uncertain terms. Would Fitz have done the same thing once he was ready to return to his wife if Liz had not discovered his secret?

Liz stared at the text. She could not have him coming to her house. She was sorry she had ever made him dinner. Her instincts to always meet him on neutral territory had been correct and one she would follow the next time (though she doubted there would be a next time). But Brad might be at home right now having finished his last final exam; Ron was surely at work. Liz did not want Brad having to deal with Fitz or explaining anything about her or defending her to Fitz.

 _Go away_ She sent back.

 _What?_ Fitz replied.

 _Stay away from me_ She texted.

 _Liz, what's happened?_

 _Not going to Vegas, stop textin never contact me ever again_ She hoped she was clear.

 _Can I call you?_ He asked.

Liz did not respond again, but set her phone aside. She heard the occasional notes of her text sound to indicate that further texts were on her phone. It rang multiple times as well. She shoved it under some papers on Aunt Alice's desk though that did little to mute the sounds; she found she could not touch it again to silence it as she did not want to see what Fitz had written, or see how many times he had texted or called.

She moved about the back office attempting to find something to occupy herself. She thought she might break out in tears again; she almost expected it. Her heart was beating high up in her chest, and her breathing still was irregular, but she had no more tears, just then, to shed. Her phone lay hidden and perhaps that had been part of their relationship and with it buried, so too were her feelings, for now.

* * *

A/N: apologies for being tardy. Art is imitating life. Train wreck in the story, train wreck in my life as I had a major family emergency to deal with.


	20. Fine and Mellow

Chapter Twenty

"Fine and Mellow"

 _My man don't love me  
_ _Treats me oh so mean  
_ _My man, he don't love me  
_ _Treats me awful mean  
_ _He's the lowest man  
_ _That I've ever seen_

 _Love is just like a faucet  
_ _It turns off and on  
_ _Some times when you think it's on, baby  
_ _It has turned off and gone_

There were boxes stored in that office, and Liz poked her nose in them, unabashedly opening one and looking at ugly purses and shoes. She wondered that anyone would buy or wear them, but they distracted her from her troubles.

"Not one of my better finds," said Alice who had half-opened the door to check on her. "Eden is finally here." Her aunt closed the office door behind her. Alice had a bag which had a tantalizing aroma, and Liz realized she was hungry. "My mom instinct tells me I need to feed you first."

"You never had kids," accused Liz.

"We tried. I blame Phil," said Alice. "Though I probably would never have started this," and she pointed around the office, and at the boxes, "if I had any. Besides, I am a better auntie than a mom." Alice set the bag on the desk and went to move the stack of papers aside and found Liz' phone. She placed it to one side without comment.

"I am…" began Liz.

"Hungry," answered Alice. "Let's do the basics first. Eat before you even begin to explain why you're here."

The usual little cardboard containers were taken from the bag and one cylindrical Styrofoam one as well. "Thai place next door," explained Alice. A drawer produced paper plates and metal utensils, not plastic. They parceled out the dishes after popping the containers open and selecting what they wanted.

Liz ate, spearing chicken and vegetables, and then had to take deep breaths as the spice of the items caught up to her. Alice produced some bottled water.

"Heaven forgive me for not drinking water from the tap," cried Alice Gardiner, "but I hate the taste," she said as she sipped her own. The bottle was placed on the desk, and she scooped more rice into her mouth then raised an eyebrow at Liz.

Liz had curled her feet up in the desk chair with her plate on her lap, but she moved the plate onto the desk. "I met this guy, like a month ago, and we've been seeing a lot of each other," she began, crossing her arms in a protective gesture over her chest. "Though sort of not seeing each other because I am in school, and he owns a huge business, and works all the time." And Liz began to tell her story of falling in love with another rich business man and of discovering that morning that he was married.

"I'm sorry sweetie. Our hearts are so funny, aren't they?" said Alice. "They lead us on pathways our heads scream out to us to turn back from, or which offer lists of reasons why we should stay away, and our dumb heart says, no! Keep going! It will be fun: it feels wonderful. It tastes and smells wonderful—everything down this path looks wonderful! And your heart sings and hums, and your feet skip along, until you trip and fall on your face. Dumb heart."

"Did you never love anybody after Uncle Phil?" asked Liz. "I guess I never thought about you and Uncle Phil being together then breaking up before," she added. "From an adults' perspective."

"I was young once," asserted Aunt Alice.

"It is kind of weird that Uncle Phil is mom's brother," said Liz.

"I know, I know. I just married into the family," Alice took another bite of food.

"Maybe it is better if we choose who will be our family, rather than be stuck with these peculiar blood relatives," considered Liz. "For years, after that Christmas: the no-show Christmas, Mom did not talk about either of you. You stayed around, but Mom did not want to discuss Uncle Phil so she wouldn't talk about either of you. Then suddenly there would be a postcard and she'd say he's _still_ having fun and _still_ not going to come home."

"What did she tell you he was doing?" asked Alice.

"She said he was traveling," explained Liz. The look on her aunt's face suggested otherwise. "So, Aunt Alice…"

"Yeah?"

"Did he really decide he wanted to stop being an accountant, a CPA, and go on an around-the-world trip? Is that why you and he did not come for Christmas that year?" Liz was expecting the truth from her aunt, what she was not expecting was laughter.

"Is that what Minnie has been telling you all these years?" laughed Alice as she settled herself in her chair and put her plate on the desk.

"Yes. She occasionally gets a postcard from him, and waves it around and makes a big deal about it. 'Here's another one, he's still traveling and having so much fun. I really should write back and send him pictures of how you three have grown,' sort of stuff," explained Liz.

"What else did your mom say about her brother?" prompted Alice.

"I always had this picture of Uncle Phil as this swashbuckler type, this grand adventurer, the way she would weave those stories. He was tired of counting beans all day that he just up and decided to go and see the world and that you didn't want to go with him. He had saved enough money to do it, to travel. You two were very different; but that after he left, you were sorry you had not gone with him. And that you have been moping for him ever since."

"Is that it?" asked Alice whose face was unreadable.

"I guess her story has changed a little bit," answered Liz as she considered her mother's tales. "It was also a little bit country mouse/city mouse. _You_ wanted to move to the city, because you started the hat shop here in SF, and he liked the country: Merriton. But you've been waiting to take him back all these years."

"Your mom still thinks we are married?" A smile appeared on Alice Gardiner's face.

"Aren't you?" Liz could not help the surprised look.

"No! My god, no!" said Alice. "Are you done? Ready to hear my side?"

"I wonder if I am old enough to know about family skeletons," said Liz.

"You, all three of you, should know," said Alice who pointed at Liz and then off vaguely as if that would include Jane and Mary. "Phil ran off with his secretary, a woman named Stacy that Christmas. But he first stopped and drained all of our joint bank accounts before he left."

"Does mom know?" asked Liz as her chest constricted. That the truth was so different was a shock.

"Minerva knows. All those postcards are Phil writing from Belize asking for money. Stacy left him probably six months after they ran off to a Caribbean paradise because it was not what he promised her. I am sure it had bugs and lizards and was not what the girlfriend had signed up for," explained Alice.

"And you did not mope over him?" asked Liz.

"No way. It was tough, any time a relationship ends and goes sour, it is hard. There is no getting over that," and Alice looked with sympathy at her niece, who realized she had been distracted from her thoughts about Fitz for probably twenty minutes. "But I had begun my little adventure in business, opening a millinery store here in San Francisco. That did okay, but I still could not support myself, but when I expanded the concept to vintage clothing, my business took off. And my first order of business then was to divorce Phil, so he could not get any more money out of me."

"So Uncle Phil lives in the Caribbean now?" asked Liz.

"Yes, he flits from one woman to another. He found a rich widow to support him for a couple of years, so I heard, but nothing really lasts for him. If he is desperate, he writes to Minnie and begs for money, so I've heard. Especially after your grandmother Angelica died."

"I can't believe Mom would send him money!" Liz grew angry at the idea. She realized how hard she worked, how hard Jane and Mary worked to support themselves in college, and the idea that their ne'er-do-well uncle would write for money, and his sister would send it, made her angry.

"If Jane or Mary asked you for help, would you turn them down?" asked Alice. That defused some of Liz' anger.

"I don't think either of them would be in such a situation," asserted Liz.

"Perhaps not, but consider where we started. Where the heart directs us, even when the head tells us otherwise, it is a treacherous but tempting path. Would neither of your sisters possibly find herself in such a situation?"

"I see Mary going down that path right now," said Liz. "But I cannot ever imagine Jane doing such a thing," and she clicked her tongue.

Alice Gardiner owned a Painted Lady. It was a Victorian house though as many of them were, hers had been sliced into four separate apartments. Alice lived on the middle floor of three, and they headed home after **Alice's Attic** closed up its doors at six.

Liz cooked for Alice, who was not the best cook, and they talked about school. School for Liz, and school for Mary, and discussed what Jane should really do. Jane could stand up for herself well enough if it was a situation which called for standing up for herself _alone_ , like the middle school robotics issue but without displacing someone else. But the situation with her TA, where there might be harm involved: where Jane's word might harm her TA's academic career was more complicated and it meant Jane was a different creature.

On Saturday, Liz followed her aunt to the store and helped to unpack boxes and worked as an unofficial stock clerk, sorting, and categorizing some estate purchases for her aunt. She left her phone at her aunt's house. She had glanced to see that Fitz had texted and called a number of times, but attempting to not view the words, she deleted his texts and voicemails, then turned off the phone entirely. She felt she could live without a phone and would not go wander the streets of San Francisco, but stayed in **Alice's Attic** getting dusty as she sorted.

Saturday night, before Liz could sit and mope more about her situation, Aunt Alice talked again of her marriage. Liz was surprised at the difference between what Alice shared and the fiction which her mother maintained about her brother.

"I cannot believe that Mom does not see him as a bum and is sending him money when Jane and Mary and I could use help with tuition!" she had cried.

Alice shook her head. "They are both, brother and sister, not comfortable with themselves, in their own skin. They have always searched for others to validate them. I always saw that with Phil who wanted me to tell him what a good person, a good provider, a good man he was." Liz nodded as she listened to her aunt talk. "But when he saw that my silly little venture to open a hat shop was actually taking off and might be successful, he felt threatened. It was like he felt impoverished as a person because I had challenged his definition of himself."

"I think I see," said Liz. "But how is it that Mom is like that, or what does Mom have to do with this?"

"Phil left me because I stopped validating him the way he needed. Our marriage would never have survived the day my paycheck exceeded his. Your mother is the same way. She only wanted to be married and to raise kids and have pretty things. Minerva did not want to work, or work too hard."

"She is a…a strange mother," said Liz. "She does not want to stop being a mom, even though we are technically grown up."

"It's her only role in life, of course she doesn't want to let go of it. I'm sure if one of you had a baby she would give up the interfering Mom bit to be the overbearing Grandmother role in a heartbeat."

"Maybe I don't want to have kids," said Liz.

"Consider your dad, he has certain capabilities, but he's not the best businessman." Liz frowned that here was someone else who blamed her father's business failings on her father. "I sort of think that Minnie liked your father living close to the edge of ruin. It meant she knew who Tom was and she could define herself and plan accordingly. But she didn't plan or enjoy his losing the business that year." Alice looked apologetically at Liz as she danced around the topic of Kevin Merriton. "But when it meant that Minerva might lose her livelihood, she was perfectly capable of swooping in to help your father out of a jam. At the time, it surprised a lot of people, I am sure. Though _I_ wasn't at all surprised. The Gardiner siblings always land on their feet."

"I never considered Mom to have any capabilities besides nagging and cooking," said Liz. "And being motivated by a desire to know every damn thing we are doing _, in detail_."

"She is motivated by having no self-esteem and by being validated only by you, your sisters, your dad and her brother," explained Alice.

"Heavy," said Liz.

"Movie time?" suggested her aunt.

"Yes, but no Rom-Coms. Maybe not an adventure, I think I am off those too. How about a lovely murder?"

"Sounds good," said Alice.

 **Alice's Attic** was only closed on Mondays, but it did not open until noon on Sunday so Aunt Alice took Liz out for brunch and then saw her back on light rail and on her way home.

Liz was glad she had come. It had distracted her from her troubles. But like grief (and it was grief to get over a relationship), your feelings came and went, and she could not help being overwhelmed on the train ride home to Palo Alto. She could only sit and stare out the window and hope the people next to her would not bother her, and like most strangers, they ignored her.

At the train stop, she texted Brad and asked for a ride. He said he would come get her and even clarified which station since they lived near two. He had a rather long face when he pulled up, and she wondered if he did not want to hear about her troubles—she thought that was fair enough—Ron had probably shared what had occurred. But he asked about her weekend and how she was feeling. She replied she was glad she had gone and explained how she had helped out in the store. There was an awkward silence in the car before Brad spoke again.

"Morgan got in a fight."

"Oh!" Liz had not thought about her cat since Friday, probably since going to bed Thursday night.

"Yeah, um, looks like her ear's messed up," he said.

When she had run away, Liz had not thought about her cat or considered her care but had left the house assuming Ron would look after her. This only added to her misery.

"Oh my god," she moaned.

"Ron's working today and Morgan won't let me near her, but she's bleeding on my bed," growled Brad.

"Oh. Okay, I'll look at her as soon as we get home," Liz assured her roommate. She thought about how much she did not want to deal with an injured cat on a Sunday afternoon. She thought of the expense of a weekend vet, was worried about her cat, though she still really only wished to curl up with a blanket and hide, and to give into those feelings of remorse and sadness, and to cry.

Cat instinct meant that Morgan was waiting for them; she stood at the top of the stairs that lead to Brad and Ron's room and the cat scolded Liz as soon as she walked in the door. When Liz put her things down and called her, however, Morgan dutifully came over. Liz could see that she had a slice in her ear. She ran her hands over the cat's body and did not notice anything else particularly wrong, but could not help but worry. She weighed her options; wait a day and take her to her regular vet, or take Morgan to an emergency vet and foot that bill.

"I'll text Ron," said Brad. "He might have an idea."

Ron did. He knew a woman who was a traveling vet. She did not have the bother of paying the overhead of Bay Area real estate so made house calls. Ron texted Brad the number for Vet Heather and he called her. Vet Heather came to the condo to give Morgan the once-over.

In an odd twist, Morgan liked Vet Heather. Morgan le Fey—who liked nobody but Liz and Ron—seemed to take to Heather even though Vet Heather dabbed her ear, ran her hands over the cat's body and found a few more scratches to mend. The vet said she had probably got into a terrific fight, and suggested she remain an inside cat. Liz sighed as she had done her best to _keep_ her an inside cat, but Morgan did her best to sneak out whenever anyone was not looking.

Liz' week, that week, was a see-saw. She could not change the time of her walks without raising suspicions with her dog families, but she changed her pattern entirely. Liz reversed course, starting with the Watsons (their noisy, kid-dominated house meant they did not really notice), collected the other dogs in turn, and walking away from Atherton, she crossed north into the next city to walk more suburban streets with houses all packed neatly together. The dogs showed a great deal of interest with their new trails; all five of them were eager to explore these new streets, even Prince Rudolph.

Liz managed to function when she went to work at The Trading Post with Ron. She stocked shelves; she helped customers; she talked _the outdoors_ even though she was not a camper or an outdoors-woman. Then she would come home and curl up into a ball in her bed (with clean sheets) and weep. Brad and Ron respected her closed door, coming to an understanding as to when to talk to her and when not to. If she sat on that murky college couch then they would throw out tentative questions which she would answer.

Both Jane and Mary had been forewarned about her wonderful weekend plans so both had been in expectation of hearing about how it had gone. On Sunday she texted both of them:

 _We broke up don't want to talk about it_

She let them draw their own conclusions that, perhaps, Vegas had not gone as planned. It bought her time before she had to tell them the full story.

Jane texted her _Lizzy, so sorry. Call me when you can talk_

Liz could hear her sister's voice in the text; it was not simply characters on the screen.

By the middle of the week Liz was able to call Jane with a rather calm demeanor and talk through the events of that Friday morning. Jane was shocked; Jane was always shocked by the extremes of human behavior.

"I can't believe that he would do such a thing," Jane had said over the phone. "Are you sure it was the right house? I just…Liz!"

"I know the dog. The woman called him Benny. There was a little boy who greeted Benny too," Liz argued. "What else am I to think about that?"

Jane backed down. "I'm sorry, Liz. I am so sorry. You really liked him; I could tell. It makes it that much harder."

"It does," Liz agreed.

"You were both of such different worlds," Jane said then.

"What do you mean?"

"You once said he went from a date with you to a swanky black-tie event," explained Jane. "More than anything else, that made me worried that your worlds were too different, and it wasn't going to work out."

"Yeah, now I know he probably went with his wife!" Liz asserted.

Mary was far more like Ron, she encouraged Liz to call Fitz up and rake him over the coals for his behavior. Mary railed and ranted against Fitz and had so much to say about the male of the species that Liz found herself actually laughing and saying, "I am sure he does not represent _every man_ on the planet."

Mary said, "I beg to differ, this is why I don't like men!"

"I don't ever want to see him again, and I don't want to talk to him," Liz replied. "I have deleted him from my phone, but I don't have the… _whatever_ to call him up and tell him what a bastard he is. But I appreciate your defending me, Mary, and suggesting I do so."

"Anytime, big sis," was Mary's reply. "If you ever see him in a crowd, you need only point him out to me, and I will unsheathe my claws and have at him for you."

"Thanks Mary," Liz replied, and she felt better for talking to her little sister.

Charlotte came home from Merriton expecting wild tales of Vegas; it was almost as if she had expected a whirlwind wedding. Liz set her straight. Like Jane, Charlotte was inclined to argue that Liz had misinterpreted the scene that morning. She, however, did not back down as easily as Jane had nor did Char think Liz should consider giving up on a rich boyfriend so quickly, even if he was married.

Liz lost patience with her friend then, she could not believe that Charlotte would even consider dating a married man, but Charlotte now thought him even more likely to help with the odd tuition bill, or at least spring break trips to Vegas or other fun destinations. Liz grew angry with such suggestions, but Char then changed the subject and mentioned she saw Kevin Merriton more than once in town when she was home.

"Apparently he is getting married, the daughter of a banker from Sacramento. Family owns the largest independent Savings & Loan in Northern California," said Charlotte.

"Really?" Liz felt a pulse beat in her temple, and she looked away from her friend.

"Yes," cried her friend.

"What's her name?" Liz kept staring down at her toes as they sat together on the ugly couch.

"Caroline or Catherine or Caitlyn, some 'K' name," said Charlotte. "I didn't even catch the family name. I am sure we will read about it in the papers."

"But Paul is still free?" Liz tried to be light-hearted about the subject and the entire conversation.

"Yes!" answered her friend who did not seem to note Liz' sarcasm and answered sincerely.

Liz left off any more discussions with Charlotte then about rich men.

* * *

A letter came for her with an Atherton return address. From an F.M. Darcy. Liz' insides had cramped, loosened, knotted again as she had stared at it. Luckily it was mid-afternoon and all her roommates were away just then. She walked back slowly into the house, wondering if she should burn it unread (their fireplace sported a spider plant not firewood), wishing you could stick paper down garbage disposals, but she went to sit at the kitchen table to stare at the letter.

She sat so long that Morgan eventually found her and curled up in her lap as she stared at the letter. Eventually her hands peeled back the edge and she took out two sheets of printed paper folded neatly and precisely in thirds. Liz sat and stared at those folded sheets then as she absently petted Morgan.

Then encouraged and heartened by some strength within her hands unfolded the papers.

 _Liz: how could you walk away from what we had? You have to call me to explain why you would give up on me. I am a good man, a good person, and do not deserve this behavior from you, this shutting down. What is wrong with you that you could just leave me like that?_

She stopped reading then and folded the letter back up. It was two pages full. It was probably two pages of scolding and nagging and blaming which she did not need. Liz stood, shoving a reluctant Morgan off of her lap, looked wistfully at the garbage disposal, but opened the cupboard underneath and put the letter in the garbage can underneath. She did not crumble it, but slipped it gently into the can and went to her room to once again cry.


	21. Stardust

Chapter Twenty-One

"Stardust"

 _Beside a garden wall  
_ _When stars are bright  
_ _You are in my arms  
_ _The nightingale tells his fairy tale  
_ _A paradise where roses bloom  
_ _Though I dream in vain  
_ _In my heart it will remain  
_ _My stardust melody  
_ _The memory of love's refrain_

Fitzwilliam left work before noon to run home and finish packing. He wanted to avoid both Alex and his cousin; he could not contain his excitement about his plans for the weekend. There were the usual conference events like an opening dinner that evening (with cocktails beforehand), the trade show floor with vendor displays, and various meetings and discussion panels, but Fitz wondered how distracted he would be with Liz in attendance.

He anticipated that he would be _very_ distracted and not just hotel room distractions, but that box full of questions was overflowing, and there were many other activities to consider with this time with Liz. It was the perfect place to find ways to get some of them answered. Walking and holding hands (hands free of leashes), or they could sit and talk and eat without the clock telling them to hurry, move on, to be able to follow a conversation wherever it would take them. He was a giddy schoolboy thinking about his weekend with Liz.

There was one other Pemberley employee, Jackson Carter, who was also attending, and Fitz would need to chat with Jackson at some time during the weekend; Fitzwilliam could not hide away entirely.

He finished packing; made sure he had everything, checked the time and realized he had overcompensated. It was still too early to go get her. He sent her a text.

 _I will be by 1:30 to pick u up_

His phone chirped right away, and Fitz smiled as he held it up. Something inside twisted as he read: _**Go away**._

He thought it might be a crank text of some sort. He had to double-check that it was indeed Liz' number. He had added her surname and it said Liz Bennet in his contact list. Besides, he had memorized her number. The number was correct.

Fitz had no context for such a statement, and could not figure out a response.

 _What?_ He texted.

Her next response was even more baffling: _Stay away from me_

 _Liz, what's happened?_ He replied.

 _Not going to Vegas, stop textin never contact me ever again_ Appeared on his screen.

He sent back a notice: _Can I call you?_

But there was no further word from her, his Liz Bennet. He could not fathom her response. This shutting down, hatcheting of communication. Fitzwilliam tried to think rationally; something had happened, and she was spooked. She did not want to go with him to Vegas. He thought at first that _that_ was it. It was too soon. He thought about Bob cautioning him about that fact. A weekend away was too soon, too early in the relationship.

He called and left, at first, a short message in an attempt to be rational. "Look, maybe going away for the weekend together is too soon for our relationship. I understand, but, can we talk? Please call me back." He then sat and went over her words to him while he waited and waited, staring at the phone. But there was still nothing, at least nothing else from Liz. A text, work-related, made his heart leap and then crash when he realized it was not from her.

He texted her again, wondering if she was not checking her voicemail. Perhaps she would read it and would calm down. Perhaps she had panicked at the idea of going away with him.

 _We don't have to go away for the weekend_ He sent.

 _Can we just have dinner?_ He had pleaded.

But there was no response. His frustration and anger started to grow, those feelings which had been gnawing at him all week. Those scenarios which had been planted by Alex and that advice given to him by Bob: he needed to look at her actions. She did not make time for him. She kept him at arm's length. She was not answering his texts or phone calls. He was mad then.

He was angry.

He thought he might as well go to Vegas. It was a little later than he wanted to leave, but he drove to the airport, parked in long-term parking, and made it to the gate. It was a short flight, and he eschewed a drink then, but there was something growing, a sense of fury that she was not there with him and had given him no response, no reason for her rejection.

There were other, darker things inside, more difficult emotions which came up. Abandonment was not something he dealt well with. As soon as he had flung his bag onto his hotel bed (one he had considered he might never leave), he flew downstairs seeking a drink, seeking to forget, seeking to forget that someone he had been counting on had abandoned him.

He went to the conference social. There were drinks at the conference social. There were pretty faces at the conference social. The number of drinks in his belly and the mixture of dark emotions inside meant he was in rare form, flirting. They really were all rather pretty.

Perhaps it was a drunken man's perspective; he thought about that bed, the bed he had not thought he would be sleeping in solo. He thought about how easy it would be to not _have_ to sleep solo. But even in his drunkenness, there was part of his brain which thought, _they're not Liz. How artificial they all seem, how fake._

Alcohol affects people in different ways. Usually when someone starts drinking, they feel happier, they are looser tongued; there is a sense of euphoria. There are happy times initially, when you consume your drink of choice. Which is why so many people like a drink or two—they like to be happy. But then, if you keep drinking, you get to the melancholy phase. You become reflective and sad before you finally achieve forgetfulness. But it is difficult to drink to forget without getting very sick and without first being sorrowful, distressed, and disappointed.

Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy was not sure who he was that night as everyone knew him as Mason Darcy. Everyone in the world knew him as Mason—even his sister—only his father and Liz had known him as Fitzwilliam or Fitz and both of them had abandoned him. How powerful are our names.

Happy Darcy would have been quite content with bringing one of those women back to his bed. He kept drinking until he got to the melancholy phase, however, where you become philosophical—despite the alcohol clouding your brain—when you feel inclined to sit down and look out at the world and to start asking questions.

But he had come to Vegas with a whole box full of questions. It was an overflowing box. Not just about a certain young woman, but about himself, his past, his _father_. Melancholy Darcy decided to take his aching head and his sour stomach off to bed and to sleep it off. Alone.

He woke up miserable and miserable in multiple ways. He had at least managed to get his shoes off, but he lay in rumpled clothes on top of the coverings of that hotel bed. But that was as far as he had gotten before he had passed out. It did not matter what time of day it was, the light hurt. He wondered that he had had so much to drink. It had not worked either, as the first thing he did was remember _why_ he had gone down that path of drinking. He drank to try to forget Liz.

He had done such a thing once before, when things had not worked out with his college girlfriend, and life had come crashing down. Fitzwilliam had made a couple of drunken attempts to forget Kathleen and their breakup. But sometimes your memory is short and you forget that drinking to forget never works, it never helps anything. Irony.

He had no motivation to go be Pemberley's CEO so he took his time to get himself together. To ply himself with disgusting hotel room coffee in an attempt to revive himself, to shower, to dress. He was not a Businessman until the early afternoon. Fitz skipped any sort of conference meeting or discussion. He had been asked to sit on a couple of panels, but was happy now that he had said no in anticipation of spending his time with Liz. He merely walked the trade show floor to put in an appearance. Then he found something to eat, but he found he did not want to return to that hotel room just yet, so went to pace The Strip.

His head still ached; there was a dull throbbing inside. He wondered if that was not partly to do with his feelings and not from alcohol poisoning. The Strip was all lights and sounds and palm trees and crowds of people laughing and talking and shouting; everybody was having a great time. Vegas was all about pleasure; he had certainly come with the idea of indulging in that, but that was not the reality he had found. He now only saw only as he walked. It seemed like everywhere he looked, even though it was dazzling and lights and beautiful buildings, and bewitching people. The women were beautiful and curvaceous; the men clean and crisp and handsome. Still, it was like a mirror in that he could only see his feelings reflected back at him.

He was hurt; he was confused. He did not know what to do. It was only dinner time, and he thought how much he did not want to go back to that hotel room. How much he did not want to make another appearance at the conference. He, lost in a crowd, called the airline to change his flight, and got the last flight out that night. He left Vegas behind. It worked out that by the time he arrived home it was after midnight; he did nothing but fall exhausted in his own bed and slept, but not without troubled dreams.

He tried again to be logical about what was going on with Liz, sitting on his couch with his coffee cup, as he pulled out his phone. He had dutifully ignored it the day before. She had not texted any return messages or returned his calls. He could not imagine a scenario where she would stop communicating with him. If she had not at least replied to him to say 'stop texting,' he would have worried about some horrible scenario, and for a few moments he did worry someone had her cell phone and was sending dummy messages, but realized how unlikely that would be.

Bob, who had far more experience with women, had said if she was interested she would make time. He wondered if that was the case here. Liz was just not that interested. He had come on too strong; he kept telling her how crazy he was about her, and he had scared her away. He thought about Alex's opinion that Liz was just scamming him.

He thought about Alex's desires in life. Perhaps Liz _was_ like Alex and seeking a rich conquest. Liz had mentioned those student loans and having to work, how preoccupied it made her. Perhaps she was merely like those other women and wanted someone to relieve her of her debt. Was she seeking a husband? She had joked once about marrying and appeasing her mother, but perhaps she _was_ more intent on finding a husband.

Maybe she had found someone else? That idea hurt so much he set his coffee aside because he could not finish it. He tried to not think about her, but he could not leave off thoughts of Liz that Sunday. She had just _gone_ , just like his Dad, gone. _I cannot live without your Mom._ That was all the note had said.

 _I cannot live without your Mom_ had been the only words that William Darcy had left, and Fitz had found them so inadequate. Nothing about Fitzwilliam or Georgia, all of his father's thoughts had been about his wife Amy.

Fitz had been overwhelmed with grief, overwhelmed with everything he had to take on. He had become angry, and he never stopped being angry and blaming his father for everything. All the hard parts, the trials he had suffered in the last seven years. His dad had not allowed his son time to mourn the loss of his mother before he too had left, and in leaving, left Fitz a mountain of responsibility and burdens. Fitzwilliam squarely placed the blame on William Darcy's shoulders for abandoning him and ruining his life.

But Fitz had thought he found joy beyond his ruin and trials. He thought about _how much he wanted someone in his life_. He wanted to share his life with another. He had not realized he was in such a position. Not realized how much he wanted Liz, until he fell in love with Liz. Then it fell apart.

He became angry and bitter and resentful that she had played him for a fool. No doubt, Alex was right, and Liz had found someone else. Someone who would pay off those student loans. Someone else she liked more. It pained him to consider, as he sat feeling physically sick, that he did not measure up. It seemed he was forever destined to not measure up, be worthy to those he cared for.

He thought that he needed to keep to his own sphere. Bob chided him for being part of the Silicon Valley lifestyle, but given his net worth, maybe _that_ was where he needed to look, and not consider dog walkers, and certainly not college students given everyone's reaction since he was twenty-eight years old.

He had asked Alex for that report about the company's charitable giving. At the time, he had set it aside, but now he sat and looked where the company officially donated money. He thought about all those dinners, events, and auctions he had gone to in the past few years, and he began to think about what sort of _lifestyle_ he wanted to carve for himself.

Perhaps this _was_ his sphere, where he belonged. He certainly had the money for it. He had the house. He had been established long enough. He had both the income from his company but was also thankful that Aunt Ellen had set up trust accounts not only for her son but for her nieces and nephew. So with the trust account for the Darcy grandchildren and the business, he did very well indeed.

If he was going to seek a companion, he had to look in the right places. City streets were not the place to pick up women. Fitz was certain that even Bob would agree with that.

* * *

Fitzwilliam took Monday off from work and dutifully went to visit his parents' grave site. He did not want Aunt Kate having anything to lord over him.

He came to work on Tuesday at the regular time. Apparently Alejandra had come in early.

"Mason, why were you out yesterday?" called out his assistant.

"Not now, Alex," he answered and shut his door.

He wondered that his assistant, who seemed to know everything about him, did not know that Monday had been the anniversary of his father's death. It seemed as though _that_ should have been front page news. It certainly had made news at the time. Coping with the loss of a family member is difficult enough because it makes people uncomfortable, they do not know how to react to you. But when such news is published in the local newspapers it makes it more complicated.

He had been twenty-one, within weeks of his twenty-second birthday when his father had died. Fitz had just struggled through that with his mother. He had seen how people he knew all his life could not look him in the eye, stumbled over their words, ignored him completely, and in particular, did not know what to do or how to react to a twelve year old child who lost a mother. It was why he would forever love and appreciate Charles—his friend stood firmly by him.

But dealing with the death of a man who had deliberately chosen to die added a different dimension; there were those who still supported him and there were those who were still uncomfortable. But now, there were those with a morbid fascination who wanted to know the details of his father's last moments. But that was one thing Fitzwilliam did not feel like sharing, in particular, because his sister would not leave his side. At the memorial service for his father his grief had melted into anger, and he had not stopped being angry about the topic of his father's death and the loss to both him and his sister of a father in their lives. He had been angry ever since.

There was a knock on his door, and he shook himself from his reverie. He considered that most people walked in without knocking (and it was usually Alex or Bob who came to see him). Charles was often so busy that he dashed off an email but did not physically seek him out.

Fitzwilliam called out, "come in."

It was his cousin Bob who peered in, then shut the door behind him, "hard day yesterday, huh?"

Bob had laid in wait for him. He was not wearing his usual amused visage but a rather sympathetic one. "I figured you took yesterday off, because of the anniversary."

"Not really," replied his cousin. There was a stern undertone to his voice.

The eyebrows on his cousin's mug rose at that.

"I am not talking, have to play catch-up," said Fitzwilliam dismissively. "You need to go back to work."

"Okay," said Bob. "I suppose suggesting lunch is fruitless?"

"No lunch," growled Fitz.

"Okay," agreed Bob.

Fitzwilliam concentrated on work; he knew how to do that quite easily. Lose himself in work. Jackson Carter came to see him, dragging his cohort Dennis Bolton-Meyers to discuss battery design: one they thought might have implications for the military. It was a meeting which stretched longer than planned. Fitz had Alex bring them lunch as they talked about licensing and whether they should consider moving into government contracts.

If Jackson had witnessed his excessive drinking in Vegas he had not reported it back to anyone at Pemberley Energy. Fitzwilliam did not hear news whispered in the hallways about his behavior. Carter had only asked why he had missed the Sunday breakfast meeting. Fitz said he had chosen to come home early. He thought there were enough people in the company who knew about the anniversary of William Darcy's death and could understand he might have wished to be home and not thinking about work.

Bob Richardson came by at odd hours and poked his head in with legitimate questions which Fitz answered and then, without inviting his cousin by word or action to sit, bent his head back to his work. He did not want to talk to Bob about Liz and Vegas. Bob figured that out the first day, not that being Fitzwilliam Mason's confessor meant he did not stop trying in more subtle and annoying ways to get F. Mason Darcy to talk.

Yvonne noticed too. She could sense his mood in the mornings. He was late every morning for breakfast, uncommunicative, and not sitting at the counter anymore but at the table. By the end of the week she began to set the table rather than the counter and left him his breakfast without waiting for him to appear.

Fitz had gotten up that first morning, that first solo Monday; he neither jogged nor took the dogs, but simply walked the streets to find her. Liz did not appear as he traced their usual pathway. On Tuesday he tried a slightly different route, following where she turned from their corner of parting attempting to figure out where her route took her, where _she_ ended, but he did not find her. He stalked the streets for her a third day, paced them up and down in anger and rage at her no longer being there but found no trace of her.

By Thursday, he knew she had changed her route (probably the time as well) so she did not have to run into him in the mornings anymore. Liz Bennet and her posse of dogs were gone. He did not see hide or paws, hair or face of them on those streets. He gave up looking.

* * *

Fitz knew her address, had been to her house, and considered showing up to pound on her door and demand to know why she was shutting him off from her life after everything had been going so well between them. But would she even be there, or had she fled to her parent's house since it was her spring break? He could only add to his box full of questions.

He wrote her a letter asking, _demanding_ , that she tell him why she had left, explaining that he had done _nothing wrong_ and what was the matter with her? and that she needed to contact him and explain why she had disappeared, why she was shutting him out, why she was leaving him without word or explanation beyond those texts to him that previous Friday. What the hell was wrong with her that she would pass up on him as he was a good man.

He considered sending it return receipt so he would know it actually got to her; so he could be assured it had been delivered. But then he worried that he was going too far. Requesting a return receipt on a letter demanding answers was almost like stalking. He was not that sort of a man, was he? He could be magnanimous and truly let her go if she did not respond to his written request.

* * *

A/N: if you want to skip all the angst and drama, come back on October 11 when Volume 3: "Healing" begins.

And in answer to a few guest reviews about what's up? with the title. All the turning points in the story involve the dogs. So look for Benny's next appearance.


	22. Lonely Avenue

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Lonely Avenue"

 _Now my room has got two windows  
_ _But the sunshine never comes through,  
_ _You know it's always dark and dreary  
_ _Since I broke off, baby, with you!  
_ _I live on a lonely avenue._

…

 _I could cry, I could cry, I could cry,  
_ _I could die, I could die, I could die,  
_ _because I live on a lonely avenue, lonely avenue._

For the most part, Fitzwilliam had not seen much of Yvonne in the mornings since Liz had disappeared; there was some avoidance on his part. He appeared one morning in the kitchen and watched his housekeeper waddling over from the coffee pot to the table.

He greeted her with, "aren't you due?"

"I should have expected at least a good morning," she snapped.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, and took a sip of his coffee. "I know how to make coffee and can certainly feed myself. Why don't you take off now until the little guy shows up?"

"My due date is tomorrow," she said. "I fear he is showing no interest in making an appearance."

"All the more reason to take care of yourself," he replied. He also thought that Yvonne's eyes on him were not exactly what he wanted.

"Have you heard how spring break went?" she asked, changing the subject. She threw bacon, eggs and toast in front of him.

"No," replied Fitz. "She was not due back until Sunday. Classes began Monday, and I have been neglectful in calling her to find out how it went."

"You should call her," prompted Yvonne. Then she leaned heavily against the counter. "So, really? Okay if I start my leave tomorrow?"

"Perfectly," he answered. "I can fend for myself."

"Okay then," she replied. "If you get confused which is the washing machine and which is the dryer, just let me know." She smiled. "I can even leave you the dirty dishes from this morning."

"Don't I have a dishwasher?" he asked.

"How do you know about such things as dishwashers?" she teased.

"I am not such a spoiled brat," Fitzwilliam replied.

* * *

Fitz called Georgia, but she did not pick up the phone. He received a text about an hour later.

 _Sorry been out having fun. Facetime me tonight?_

 _I will call_ He replied.

 _Fair enough_ Was her response.

He stopped for some Chinese take-out, brought it home, and set at the table, angling the speaker on his phone to call his sister.

"It's rather loud," was his first remark. "What are you up to?"

"We are just, kind of, having a dorm floor party…because…because! Can we make it short?" Georgia shouted over the phone.

"Yes, I just wanted to say hi, and how did spring break go?" he asked.

"It was a blast. I did everything you feared," she laughed.

"That was what I expected. But you had fun?" he pressed.

"I had fun. And I survived it. And Katy and I…yeah, yeah, let's just leave it there," answered his sister.

"I think that is probably best," he said. "So, I did have a question for you though."

"It's not about school is it?" Georgie asked, and he could tell from the change in her voice that she really wanted to sign off. "I thought we put that to bed."

"No, it's not that," he assured her. "Um, I realize that I don't have a gift for Yvonne, and I don't have a clue what to give her for the new baby."

"Oh my gosh she's probably huge!" cried Georgie.

"Yeah, she's big, but not _that_ big. Babies are thankfully little." He thought that his sister was drinking. "I got the sense that last time, with Derek, even though you were only like fourteen, _you_ were the one who still picked out the gift. I feel like I'm an adult who should know what to do. She's been our housekeeper for seven years, and I really should do something nice for her and this next one."

"I am sure she has a lisp…list." He was convinced she was drinking.

"A list?" he prompted.

"Yeah, people register for baby stuff. And you're _super rich guy_ and can buy the most expensive thing on the list," explained Georgie.

"Okay, so I don't have to shop for baby clothes?" He sounded relieved.

"I think that would be beyond you," she laughed. "Yeah, she must have a list."

"Okay, thanks. Well, enjoy your dorm party," he said. "Good to hear you are enjoying yourself."

"Thanks, bye Mason," she sounded in a hurry to sign off.

"Bye, Georgie."

He was not sure if he wanted to ask Yvonne if she had a list; he did not want her to ask about Liz.

He asked his assistant the next day at work as he was heading off to lunch.

"Oh my god! Amazon lists! You can register for anything you want. If she's on there, you just pull it up. I can totally find that for you. What's her name?" gushed Alex.

"Yvonne Reynolds," he replied. "It is for a baby."

"Baby registry, easy!" replied Alex and did a quick search on Amazon for him while he watched. But Alex said she came up empty-handed. He wondered what he should do next, but thanked her.

* * *

Fitz was a captive audience on their flight to San Diego. They flew business class, an indulgence for an hour flight because they were going to spend the weekend with Aunt Kate. There were fewer people around to listen to his story which was, perhaps, what prompted his cousin. Perhaps it was that it was an evening flight, and Bob had a cocktail in his hand already.

Fitz was lost in thought and had been considering his arguments for why Aunt Kate should not be on the board of directors when Bob said, "tell me what happened to Liz."

"I don't want to talk about Liz," replied Fitzwilliam, and made a show of pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"You should tell me what happened in Vegas," said Bob.

"I thought one did not share about events in Vegas," said Fitz as he scrolled blindly through emails on his phone.

"It must have been pretty bad," said Bob. "You've been a son of a bitch for the last two weeks. It can't all be because of the anniversary." He sipped. "Did she dump you?"

"No," barked Fitzwilliam.

Bob seemed surprised by that. "Did _you_ dump _her_?"

"No."

"Damn it man," Bob raised his voice, and he was not really a man who yelled.

"Really, not a topic for conversation," said Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy who tapped an email and made a show of being absorbed by it.

"Lovers quarrel then?" asked Bob. "But you haven't made up in two weeks?" his confusion kept growing.

"No Bob and shut up!" He clicked his phone off angrily. Fitz was waiting for the okay to pull out his laptop so he could feign interest in something and ignore his cousin.

"Do you know how long this flight is?" asked Bob in a soft voice.

"I do," replied Fitzwilliam.

"I am your traveling companion for the next hour and a bit," answered Bob. "Do you know how annoying I can be?"

"I do," said his cousin.

"I would suggest you just answer the question. What happened to Liz?"

Fitz sighed. "She disappeared."

"What do you mean, disappeared?" Bob's continual surprise was evident.

"Just that, gone, disappeared. Stopped walking dogs. Stopped answering my texts. Won't answer my phone calls, boom, disappeared."

"You don't think she's been kidnapped off the streets?" asked Bob.

"She first sent me a text telling me she never wanted to see me again, and _then_ , stopped answering my texts," explained Fitz.

" _That_ kind of disappeared," said Bob. "Oh." He slugged down the rest of his cocktail and smiled at the steward for another. "What'd you do?"

"I didn't _do anything_ ," replied Fitzwilliam with a great deal of anger in his voice.

"Okay," placated Bob. "You answered my question. Fair enough. I won't ask any more." He took his new cocktail. "Sorry man. I know you…liked her. You deserve to be happy. Deserve a little bit of happiness because you've had a long haul of heaviness."

There was no need for a rental car because Aunt Kate's chauffeur picked them up. Her house was a sprawling Spanish-style mansion. Their aunt was lounging out on the terrace, the evening terrace, when they arrived. Aunt Katherine was a well-preserved woman for her age. She welcomed her nephews enthusiastically, gesturing to a staff member to serve them drinks.

"Oh boys!" she said. "I am so happy you have come. It gets so lonely since Anne is away, and Lewis is gone." She was always one for lamentations about how life had been unfair to her. But if you compared her life to others, she had a good one. She was the oldest child; there had been ten years between her and the next two. Katherine had been the apple of her parents' eyes while William and Ellen had relied more on each other. Kate had gone on to marry well: a judge. She had never really worked, but had a comfortable, even luxurious life.

Aunt Kate had a lot to say, but she always had a lot to say. Their first evening consisted of mainly listening to her opinions on politics, hairstyles, celebrity gossip, her neighbors, and gourmet cooking. Fitzwilliam realized she had not even touched on Anne's adventures which would be brought up at some point in time, and discussed in-depth.

Katherine had quite a large staff as she liked to have people surrounding her, and fussing over her to make her feel important. Bob and Fitz knew their task that weekend was to nod, say as little as possible, and then to say no when she asked to be put on the board of directors.

* * *

There was always a schedule at Aunt Kate's house even though she was a lady who never had to go anywhere, get up for a job, had nannies to take care of her only child, and a chauffeur to drive that child the places she needed to be. But the world revolved around Katherine. _Her needs._ She breakfasted at ten, which was not too difficult, but she lingered and talked, talked at them without waiting or wanting a response from her nephews. That took them until noon.

The subject of Anne and her trip finally came up. Anne was in Hong Kong, having rented some luxury hotel penthouse. Housing was extremely difficult to find in that city. Usually she managed to find some long-term rental, with staff, wherever she landed.

"Of course she will be skipping India, there is nothing of value to see _there_ ," Aunt Kate had said. "But she will stop over and see Moscow. There are worthy things to see in _that city_."

Darcy recalled a friend from college, one unfettered from responsibility, who had ridden the trans-Siberian railroad. His friend's experience of that continent was far different than his Cousin Anne's experience.

Kate napped in the afternoon but she called it 'beauty rest.' She had read somewhere that it was what aristocratic British women did to maintain their beauty a hundred years ago so she subscribed to it. The cousins had time then. Sometimes they ran into downtown San Diego which was a lovely city, but this trip there was a tension between them, and they opted instead to mope around the mansion.

Fitz attempted to focus on work until they were summoned to afternoon tea, another British affectation Aunt Kate had adopted. Her second meal of the day was at about four with dinner at about nine, such was her lifestyle most days.

"The company!" she called out, after they had filled their plates with food. She went on about Pemberley Energy as if it were hers and had not been founded on the hard work of her siblings. Katherine had been married, gone from the house, and largely not involved in Ellen and William's lives when the two siblings, (who had been close in age and close companions) had decided to tackle founding this company.

The two cousins sat and waited for her annual request though it was never a request, it was an outright demand by their aunt, to be put on the board of directors. She had no reason to be on it except that she was a family member; Katherine had not even finished college before she had married Lewis Burger.

She nibbled on something, "it's a family company, is it not?"

They nodded in agreement and waited.

"I've been thinking, with Anne being away (it was so kind of you to put her on the board) but..." They nodded again and waited. "She's likely to be gone for another year, and then she might decide that she never wants to come home. She might so enjoy the society of other rich ex-pats that she might meet somebody, and we will never see her again. She might not ever be able to fulfill her position on the board."

"I hadn't considered her as never returning home," offered Bob.

"I worry, _as a mother,_ " said Kate dramatically. "But, I've been thinking that we really need to ensure that this stays a _family_ company. Not only do we need to ensure the viability of the company, but we need to ensure its _respect_. The Darcy name is tangled up in it, for after all, we once were all Darcys. You both were named for my father, the great Mason David Darcy. I consider myself the keeper of our self-respect, our standing. I never want scandal attached to the family name." She paused to look at Robert Mason Richardson, her nephew, as though with a glance she could get him to behave. It had not worked when he was a boy.

Katherine Burger, born Katherine Darcy, continued. "I know you consider me unworthy, a fool, when it comes to money matters, but I know about social standing. I understand how society works. Being seen in the right way, our company and our family, by the right people is an immeasurable credit that cannot be seen on stock indexes." She made a show of dipping something into her cup and then slowly eating it. Finally she looked up from her treat.

"It is time one of you two, if not both of you, got married." A finger came up and pointed from one to the other and back again.

They stared at her.

"Now, Bob. You are the playboy, the perpetual bachelor, and I am not sure that I can ever see you settling down," she pointed then at Fitzwilliam. "Mason. You need to marry. Your birthday, after all, is tomorrow. You are established in so many senses of the word. The company is doing well; you are doing well. You own that house. It is time for you to think of marriage. Twenty-nine seems a decent age for a man who has everything going for him, don't you agree?"

"Aunt Kate," interjected Bob. "Doesn't that seem a little old-fashioned to think we need to be _marrying_. What? Are you going to be picking out young women for us? Suggesting where we go hunting for these wives?" The sarcasm was evident to his cousin but flew right over the top of Katherine Burger's head.

"I don't know that I could ever pick out the right woman for you, Robert." She looked strongly at him. "I can suggest where you look and where you don't look for a wife. If Pemberley Energy is to survive, we need to consider that it can't just remain in your hands as the primary stockholders." She pointed her finger back and forth again. "You are the majority stockholders. However, what we need is to ensure that there is another generation just like William and Ellen ensured that there was another generation."

"I don't suppose being in love is part of your playbook for the succession of Pemberley Energy," growled Bob Richardson to his aunt.

"Of course you can fall in love," said Aunt Kate, "just pick some beautiful young thing whose father is a banker. Stop going to bars every weekend and…hooking up."

"Are you keeping tabs on me?" he asked. She ignored the question.

"Mason?" she prompted. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm going to be twenty-nine tomorrow," Fitzwilliam said.

"I've been twenty-nine once," said Bob, "it did not make me think I needed to marry."

"I've been rather lonely. Running the company has taken a lot out of me and maybe Aunt Kate has an important point. We need to consider what will happen to Pemberley Energy," said Fitz.

"What!" cried Bob. "Mason! Argh, don't be reactionary. Just because Liz dumped you or disappeared, don't think you should agree to what Aunt Kate wants."

"Mason, have you taken to frequenting bars too?" cried Aunt Kate.

"No," answered Fitzwilliam. "I dated a little but that is over now."

"He's being reactionary," said Bob, who turned to Fitzwilliam. "It was too recent or you wouldn't listen to her."

"Who was she?" asked Katherine Burger. "Some girl you met at one of those Silicon Valley events you attend?" She was a little eager.

"No, a dog walker," Bob answered for his cousin.

"A dog walker!" cried their aunt. "Not what we need at all! This is not the right type of girl we need to ensure the family succession."

"I think you have little say in who we meet or date or even who we marry," asserted her nephew, Robert Mason Richardson in a serious voice.

"I think," said Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy, "that Aunt Katherine has a point. Our parents worked hard to build Pemberley Energy. We have both put a lot into it. We need to ensure its succession. We need to take _pride_ in both their work and in our own efforts."

"Brain tumor!" cried Bob. "You need to go in first thing Monday morning and get checked. _What Happened?"_

"Have you no sense of your own merits Bob?" asked Fitzwilliam, turning to look at his cousin. "It's a valid point Aunt Kate is making, we need to have pride in what we have done and what the company stands for. Think how that makes us look." He made sure he caught Bob's eyes fully. "Have you never used being the CFO of a prosperous company to your advantage when out…wenching?"

"I resent that," said Bob who did not raise his voice. "Did you never play games at that private school Uncle William and Aunt Amy sent you to?" Fitzwilliam flinched as it had been an unspoken agreement that Fitz' parents never be mentioned between them. "I think I learned a few more things going to a public school. Look at my damn face, Mason. Look what God gave me, the ugliest, dog-butt face. But my weekend life, my dating, has been one founded on winning on fair terms, damn it, not swooping in and declaring _I am worth sixty million, sleep with me._ " Bob fumed as he stood, but his voice was still calm. "I think I will take a stroll before dinner."

Fitzwilliam watched Bob walk out with his casual swagger, but his lips set together. Fitz barely allowed his cousin's words their merit. Bob had not been subject to the same…road conditions which Fitzwilliam had these past seven years. Bob had not been required to put in the same effort, nor had his life been the same series of trials. Bob's mother had retired to Santa Barbara. His father still lived though no one was truly sure where he was.

In an interesting twist, Aunt Kate held her tongue and said no more. Dinner was quiet until Katherine decided she needed to run through Anne's activities overseas again to fill in the fearsome tension between the two cousins.

Sunday was Fitzwilliam's twenty-ninth birthday. It was also Easter Sunday. Nobody was a regular church-goer but as part of the Remembrance Day activities, Aunt Kate insisted that they attend the services at the local church where she occasionally made an appearance, and where she threw some money to ensure there was a large plaque with the Burger name plastered on it, at least.

Kate Burger had adopted a theme that it was a three-for-one day since it was Easter and Mason's birthday and the day that they were remembering her brother William. There was a huge luncheon spread laid out after church. Bob was back to his congenial self, and Fitzwilliam thought about what Bob had once said—that it was his persona and not who he really was.

Fitz had spent a lot of time thinking about where the company was going, whether to continue the plan of having Charles replace his cousin, Bob, but Fitzwilliam thought now about whether he wanted to do that. He had not yet spoken to Charles. He wondered if Aunt Kate was correct, and they should keep it a family concern. Should he let Bob go? Bob had not been as eager a participant in Pemberley Energy as Fitz had been, and as their parents had been. When you are considering the life and health of a company you need people who are dedicated to it. He wondered just how dedicated Bob was to Pemberley, particularly now that they had this mandate from their aunt that they should marry and consider the next generation of leaders.

Aunt Kate did most of the talking through that celebration/memorial meal, and then her chauffeur took the two cousins back downtown to the airport to fly home. They were cool and businesslike with each other during the flight. Fitz was on his laptop the entire time looking at sales figures while Bob had his legs thrown out before him, his eyes closed.

But he pulled them in, put an elbow on the armrest, and leaned over.

"Don't be reactionary. I think you were in love, and it hurts man. But don't let Kate get you to buy into all this bullshit about family pride."

"I think," said Fitzwilliam Darcy to Bob Richardson, "we often think short term, in quarterly installments. We don't consider where the company is going. And I think it is a valid point to consider long-term. What we are going to do with Pemberley Energy."

"We _can_ consider where the company is heading," said Bob. "I have ideas about that. I think we need to look at patents and licensing revenue more. As much as this idea of innovation and seeing if we can't tweak our own designs seems sexy, as often as not, someone will come along with a better mousetrap. We're still small. You're either small and clever and innovating, or you are so huge you own the space. It's hard to be where we are. There are no long-term family businesses anymore. Kate has no business sense. It may be that we just get bought for our patents in five years because we are no longer viable. But that could also mean we are resting on a beach in Maui; so end of lecture," he leaned back, threw his legs back out in front of him, and closed his eyes.

* * *

A/N: I've had a number of reviewers who feel Liz is not canon Elizabeth or not acting like they would consider an Elizabeth Bennet should act. I get the sense that some people think spunky and confrontational are the hallmarks of Elizabeth Bennet. I wanted to review Elizabeth and Darcy from Austen (the early, volume one and two Lizzy and Darcy from P&P). Neither of them are at their best at the beginning.

Consider Elizabeth Bennet in volume one in P&P: she first encounters Mr. Darcy where there's a misunderstanding between them and she takes an instant dislike to him. During all her subsequent encounters with him, she finds nothing about him to value, but she never _seeks_ to find anything of value about him and is content with maintaining her little narrow, prejudiced view of the prideful and arrogant Mr. Darcy. Charlotte's suggesting otherwise does nothing to turn her once-formed opinion, that first impression.

Such that, when Mr. Wickham weaves his tale into her ear about the wrongs he experienced she does not question Mr. Wickham's veracity. It fits with her opinion of Mr. Darcy. In a way, Elizabeth is proud of her opinion and views and has no reason to think otherwise. Even at the Netherfield Ball, she dismisses Jane's assurances that Mr. Bingley believes Mr. Wickham's story might not be all that it seems.

Elizabeth in P&P is opinionated—can I say bull-headed?—and not willing to seek or believe the word of others. Austen's Elizabeth is not someone who is going to question her own view, once she has formed an opinion, or seek another's view on that situation. Austen's Elizabeth was assured that Mr. Darcy was prideful and arrogant, had wronged Mr. Wickham (untrue), had perhaps had a hand in separating Jane and Bingley (alas, he was human, so true) but she discovers in the story that her prejudiced view, one she would not allow any others to sway, was wrong.

So Liz (my Elisa Bennet) at this point in time is not someone, once she sees a scenario or forms an opinion, to believe that she got it wrong. This is going to come into play later on and she will struggle with how disastrous being so wrong was.

Volume one P&P paints us characters who don't quite shape up, volume two presents actions and activities to challenge that and then Austen gives us volume three where they each have opportunities for growth and change. How do we not love Jane Austen?

And I did say at the beginning of my tale that I've mixed things up a bit, so while my Fitzwilliam didn't show (in volume one) any of that arrogance and pride that so irked Austen's Elizabeth, he is going to have a bout of pride in the next few chapters. Again, October 11th is the day to come back if you want to skip the nail-biting stuff.

And one final note: wisdom and intelligence are two different things. There are very smart people without an ounce of common sense. Then there are street-smart people who never graduate from high school or finish college but still, just KNOW about life, people and the way the world works.


	23. Lush Life

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Lush Life"

 _Then you came along,  
_ _With your siren song,  
_ _To tempt me to madness.  
_ _I thought for a while,  
_ _That your poignant smile,  
_ _Was tinged with the sadness,  
_ _Of a great love for me.  
_ _Ah, yes, I was wrong.  
_ _Again, I was wrong._

…

 _I'll forget you I will,  
_ _While yet you are still,  
_ _Burning inside my brain._

* * *

A/N: thank you to all the readers for following the story, and for all the comments. What you like, where you think I got it wrong, and all the PMs we've exchanged about details (and the hints I've been able to pass on about the up-coming angst or when things smooth out). –SixThings

* * *

Of course she remembered his birthday. She slipped the card under his door. Alejandra watched as he unlocked his door (she had to run in early to ensure that the card was in place), but he stopped to pick it up, noticed that it was not business-related, _obviously_ a card. Alex turned away so that she did not see his reaction. Before she would have wanted to know, but now Alex did not want to see if Mason was unhappy she had given him a birthday card.

She jumped when he said, "Alex!" He was standing in his doorway with the card still open in his hand, and he smiled at her. "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome, Mason," she replied.

"Hey!" he called. "Can you find out what is going on this weekend? Friday or Saturday?"

"Going on?" she asked with a frown.

"Ummm," he paused, gathering his words. "That Silicon Valley business group. I thought there was an event this weekend."

"Oh, yeah." She said. "I can look that up. I'll let you know."

"Thanks," and he smiled again at her. She could not recall the last time he had smiled at her.

Alex came to report that there was a meeting and social event on Friday night. It was on ' _Innovations in Small Companies_.' $250 for the ticket. Fitzwilliam asked her to book him a seat.

"Just one?" she asked.

"Just one," he replied, wondering if she thought he should get one for her. It was not until after he sat down and worked on something for a few minutes that he realized she wondered if he had wanted to bring his girlfriend, his _ex_ -girlfriend. He was surprised that Alex didn't know that he and Liz were no more, how had _that_ news not been absorbed by his PA?

He did not see Bob all week. He had meetings with Charles. He had meetings with Jackson Carter and Dennis Bolton-Meyers, but he could not help but think about the words Bob had said to him. They could not continue innovating. The space they were in was a competitive one; they were not likely to discover the next big breakthrough in energy when there were huge billion-dollar companies in the energy space.

It was true the small innovators usually were the ones with the big break-throughs. But it was the large ones who were the manufacturers, bringing the product to market. The middle ground companies found themselves in a difficult space.

He worked late every day; he worked hard.

* * *

Liz did not want to go to the party but Charlotte and Brad convinced her that she could not stay home and mope—that she would feel worse. Ron told them both to leave her be. There was part of Liz that recognized that staying home would likely make her feel cruddy, so Liz agreed to go.

Palo Alto used to be a suburban community and still worked hard to maintain that fiction, but twenty years of amazing wealth and growth in the dot com industry meant it had become one of the most desirable places to live in the late 1990s. People fought for 2 bed/1 bath houses and paid ridiculous prices for them, some eventually had to move elsewhere, down or up the peninsula or across the bay.

Those who had incredible amounts of money to burn would flaunt it by doing ostentatious things like purchasing two houses next door to each other, tearing them both down, and then waiting out the planning council (and disgruntled neighbors) with their designs for a mansion on the combined lot. Apparently, this party was to be at one of these controversial houses.

Liz was not sure who had invited which friend, whether it was Brad with his wealthy background (though he did not often trade on it) or if it was Charlotte who often did all she could to solicit favors with anyone who might offer her a job after she finished school. Charlotte was always considering money, the cost of her student loans, and getting them paid back (or at least out of debt). Char did not want to launch herself into the world and struggle as she had seen other friends do, where they finished their undergraduate degrees, went to work, and did nothing but focus on paying back their loans to the exclusion of any sort of enjoyment of life.

Liz was distracted from her own moping as she eyed the size of the room and the cross-section of people within (all with wine glasses in their hands), and as they walked in their stocking feet into a living area that was bigger than their entire condo. The house was decorated mostly in white: white walls, white carpet, white furniture. There had been a large (and printed) sign at the front door asking everyone to remove their shoes. Ron had grumbled that he was not prepared for stinky feet. He had a sensitive nose; he was sure the smell would make him sick.

Someone handed her a glass of white wine as though all women drank chardonnay. Liz handed it back to the confused maid or server or whatever the woman's function was.

"Red?" the woman asked still with a frown on her face.

Liz nodded. The woman who had on no particular identifying dress, no black pants and white shirt, no cute apron as though a Victorian maid, came back then with a glass of red wine and passed it over. She and her tray of white wine then moved back through the crowds. Perhaps everyone was served white wine, because of the carpets.

There were crowds of people in this house. A number looked like her, college students in two-day old clothes, but some looked like…well, they dressed like Fitz, in business-looking clothes. Liz tried to not think of him, but he would crowd her mind at the oddest times. Liz sipped her wine, thought it tasty, but beyond that had no experience of wines and looked around again.

Most people were standing, drinking, and talking in that large room. There were two archways to invite others to walk through and even more sounds from other distant rooms—just how much living space did a person or family need? On one side of the room were two sets of doors which showed well-lighted patio spaces. She wondered why people would be out there in stocking feet, but they were.

One lone man sat on the only non-white item, a large modular couch in orange. Liz wondered if he was a Giant's fan, the owner of the house, and their host of the evening. She caught the couch-sitter's eye; he was older, in his thirties, and looked innocuous so she went to sit with him.

"Hi," Liz said, "mind if I sit? I don't know why everyone is standing."

"Me either," he said. "Go right ahead."

"I'm Liz," she offered.

"Earl," he said and saluted her as though she was a superior officer. She was not sure what to think about that. They sat not speaking, both sipping their wine, and just watching the people in the room moving around and talking: some flirting, some intently speaking, even some arguing.

"I am not feeling up to much…socializing," she finally said as she watched a trio of people with their phones out having a rather animated discussion as they compared screens.

"I often just people watch. Make up stories about people, try to guess what they are talking about, or make up really wild tales if they look like it's all just business talk," Earl said.

"I often people watch too," she said. "It sometimes gives me ideas for my story writing."

"You're writer?" he asked with interest.

"No, a college student, but an English major."

"Oh," he said, a little disappointed. "I…I've been trying to write a novel. Not sure I can do it. My wife doesn't think I can since I partied through college and barely graduated."

She relaxed a little more, hearing he was married, and they had hit on a topic of interest. "What did you study? English?"

"International Relations," he sounded embarrassed.

"Not sure if that will help your writing, your wife may be right," she teased. They spoke about the creative process as she sipped her wine. Then they moved closer together on the sofa. With a better view of the room they wove tales of what their fellow party goers were really doing and thinking, their secret identities, and their plans for world domination once the party was over.

They were laughing about a couple, she in a rather skimpy dress, and he in trousers (cut a little short), polo shirt, and blood-red socks who had a serum to make everyone dance non-stop unless they paid a ransom or else they would die of heart failure from the exertion, when Charlotte came into view with another woman on her arm. The woman was frowning, actually 'broiling' came to Liz, the English major's, mind.

"Hi Sondra, this is my new friend, Liza," said Earl. "Liza, this is my wife, Sondra," said Liz's new writing buddy. Sondra was in her late thirties, dark-haired, wearing a black dress to perhaps hide the baby bump; she was dark of face as she glared at Liz.

"Hi Sondra," said Liz who did not correct her name. "How's it going Charlotte?"

"Glad you're not moping," answered Charlotte. "I thought I would check on you. Maybe introduce you around?"

"Okay." Liz stood. "I can cope with a few introductions. Who owns this place? I thought this would be a college student party but it's like a business function. I feel like a little kid peeking through the stair rails down at my parent's party."

"Apparently you don't know how to move and shake in the valley," sneered Sondra. "It's Collins' place." There was tension in the air. Liz could easily read Sondra's mood and sense she saw Liz as a rival for her husband.

"Who's Collins?" asked Liz.

"She doesn't know who C.W.W. is?" Sondra turned to Charlotte to share in sneering at Liz.

"Liz is an English major; she's just tagging along." Charlotte tried to placate the business woman. Sondra appeared to puff up at that.

"You can't write. There won't be time once the baby's born," said the mom-to-be who turned to her husband on that orange couch. "Come meet some people, Earl," she beckoned; he stood and they walked off.

"Damn!" muttered Charlotte under her breath. "Damn, damn, damn! She works for a pharmaceutical company, and I was hoping for an in. No way now," her friend turned to look at Liz. There was disappointment, even agony there bordering on anger.

"You mean I ruined some sort of internship for you by being an English major?" asked Liz in confusion.

"Not internship, _job_. I have been job hunting tonight, Liz. Student debt is just getting to me, and if I can sell out with what I've done now, and find a well-paying job…life might not be so painful for the next five years."

"I didn't know you were considering that, not really," said Liz.

"But you had to speak to the one guy who was off-limits, didn't you?!" cried Charlotte in anger then.

"You insisted that I come! You and Brad— _don't sit around and mope, Liz._ _Come and have a good time, Liz._ So I did, even though I didn't want to and Ron thought I ought to stay home. I found this nice guy who also didn't want to be there, we talked, and now you're mad at me?" cried Liz.

"Sondra is Type A," said Charlotte whose pale skin was dark with anger and heightened feelings. "Powerful, did well in business then found a rich man to marry."

"Earl is rich?" Liz had not gotten the sense that her people-watching friend, Earl, was loaded.

"Doesn't look it, I know. Sometimes they're like that. But he is eight years younger and rumor is Sondra keeps him under her thumb. Wanted a baby, conventional way wasn't working, IVF and _voila_ , baby. Now she wants him to be a typical stay-at-home dad."

"Is there a typical stay-at-home dad?" Liz still felt confused.

"Actually I don't think there is, but to her, she wants it to be all about the kid and as high-profile as possible," said Charlotte. "Look, can you keep out of her way the rest of the evening. Go outside, avoid her, okay?" pleaded her friend.

"It's April and cold at night," argued Liz.

"There are heaters outside, don't worry, your toes won't freeze," said Charlotte.

Liz felt like she was on a roller coaster as far as her emotions. She had not wanted to come, been persuaded, acknowledged that feeling of being wanted and accepted by her friends. She had found her time with Earl, the wine, and their funny little stories about the other attendees rather fun. Then it all came crashing down, and Liz felt hurt, almost betrayed, because she had somehow ruined Charlotte's job prospects. But Charlotte had not explained any of this. Charlotte had been in her own world lately, caught up in working in the lab, studying, and apparently, unbeknownst to Liz, job-hunting.

Liz opened one of those doors to the patio and stepped out in her sock-covered feet. The patio was not barren cement, like at their condo, but had been paved in slate or some naturally cut stone. Tall heaters were spaced at regular intervals and Charlotte was correct, it was not cold, though the tiles were still chilly for stocking'd feet.

People were grouped by those heaters with tables pushed next to them, heavy metal ones, and she scanned the groups attempting to find the best fit for her. One group of five was jean-clad like she, and Liz hoped they were college-aged students, stumbled there by accident as she had. She nodded and was invited to join them anonymously by someone pushing a large platter of appetizers at her. Liz sank into a chair and curled her feet up to keep them warm (at least the seat had a padded cushion on the metal frame).

She lost herself in sampling items from the tray when a voice calling her name made her look up.

"Liz, Michael!"

A man dressed in expensive clothes stood with a stunningly sculpted blond at his side. Liz did not know why she thought expensive, but she simply knew that they were. He was a little taller than average with a well-trimmed beard. His eyes swung over to look at her as she looked up, then his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Who do we have here?"

Liz did not answer immediately, and the man scanned her companions who now looked at her as the outsider, apparently conveying to the man that she was not one of them by their eyes.

"Cal, Stanford, Santa Clara, San Francisco?" prompted the man looking at her.

"Stanford," she answered, assuming he wanted to know her college.

"Ah…good. Liz and Michael, Corinne here is to take you to meet Raj who might have some interesting openings in CarBlem Pharma." Two of the people at her table stood with interested and eager responses to walk with the impressive blonde to talk business.

"I am your host," said the bearded man who sat in one of the two chairs left open. He did not choose to sit next to Liz, but left a chair between them. "I have never met you or I would remember you. What is your research field?"

Liz smiled as she was feeling disagreeable, and not one to flirt or banter. After all, had not banter gotten her into such trouble with Fitz? She leaned over and noticed the other three students did as well, eager to hear about their competition. Her host did not, but sat like a sultan waiting to be served.

"English," she whispered. The students showed consternation, surprise, and discomfiture at her answer as they realized she was not a rival for his attentions, in competition with them for a job. C.W. sat with an entirely blank face, but a smile began to spread, a smile that eventually became one that showed gleaming white teeth (either aggressively whitened or capped teeth), as that smile became a grin, and he laughed as he looked at Liz Bennet.

"I like you. I really like you!"

She looked at that rich business man across from her and a steel contraption molded itself around her heart, clamping over it. And she thought, _no, not again. I will never more allow myself to be involved with a rich man. And what is it about me that I find myself in these scenarios?_ She unfolded her feet from under her and was ready to throw a choice swearword in his face and run from the patio when a voice called.

"Liz! Brad and Ron are…" but Charlotte stopped when she saw who her roommate was sitting with. "Oh! I see you have met our host." Char stopped and preened a little bit, straightened her clothes, ran a hand through her hair and then patted it down. "Hi, Mr. Collins. You've met my roommate Liz, I see?"

"Yes!" he answered. "Liz was about to tell me her last name."

Liz gritted her teeth then answered, "Bennet, Liz Bennet."

The other three at the table quickly introduced themselves to her. There was Ramon, Cameron (male) and Cameron (female) at the table with her.

"Liz has proved to be a bit of fresh air to an otherwise boring and repetitive night," droned C.W. Collins. "But you were saying something?"

"Oh! Our roommate Brad is ready to go home," explained Charlotte.

"So sorry to hear that," said Mr. Collins. "I should like to make your acquaintance more…Liz Bennet," said their host.

"I am a rather busy college student," she shuffled her feet around on the ground and considering standing. "This was the rare indulgence tonight. And only because Charlotte and Brad bullied me," she glared at Charlotte.

"Oh but Liz!" There was something about Charlotte's voice that Liz picked up on and could not say she liked. "You should give C.W. …can I call you C.W.?" asked Charlotte Lucas.

"Of course!" he called over to Char.

"Give C.W. your phone number," prompted Charlotte.

"No," said Liz. The two college-aged men at the table had been leaning over as well, listening, phones in-hand.

Charlotte said, "well, sorry she won't give you her phone number, C.W. But you may have mine, and you know, we live together!" There were three cell phones then, ready to take it down, and Charlotte Lucas shared their home phone: rapid typing followed.

C.W. looked at the pair of them as Liz stood to walk out with Charlotte, "I'll be calling," he said to them.

"Good night," replied Charlotte.

Liz waited until they had, at least, gotten outside the front door. Brad and Ron apparently had some sort of fight and were bickering with each other, but Liz was furious. "What the hell was that about Charlotte? I have no more capacity to date and now I have three men with my home phone number!"

Charlotte waved a hand at her. "You can just ignore those two college guys, but to have C.W. Collins wanting to call you? Do you realize what that means? He probably is worth more money than your Fitz ever was!"

"Did you have to bring him up?" cried Liz.

"Okay. I'm sorry. I know I agreed to never bring him up…never to mention your ex ever again," said Charlotte. "But this was the whole reason we came. Brad had connections and got invited to this party. So poo on Brad if he doesn't want to do anything…but Brad has money and doesn't have to pay off student loans, or get a job now, or worry about getting a job after he graduates, but I do!" explained Charlotte as they walked down an unlit street.

Why rich neighborhoods never had the infrastructure to pay for street lighting Liz never understood. It seemed like street lamps were always few and far between in rich neighborhoods. The party had been well-attended, and they had not been able to park right in front.

"But I came hoping for an introduction and to impress C.W. with my credentials. He talks to you then he pairs you up with industry people if he thinks that you are a good fit," explained Charlotte.

"Why can't you do things the regular way, and why do you have to drag me into this?" asked Liz.

"Okay, I didn't just bring you along for _that_. I didn't want you home moping. Brad and I _did_ think it would be a good idea if you came…but he's got the hots for you!"

"I don't want anybody to have the hots for me, Charlotte," said Liz. "Do you know how betrayed…I…"she faltered over her words. "I just wanted to walk away from those three weeks and not think about them or him ever again. I'd prefer to obliterate the entire memory. But. Okay! I admit it. I was in love. You're not supposed to fall in love so quickly, Charlotte." And then the tears came. " _I was in love_. And it wasn't a stupid high school romance like with Kevin. I thought I was doing all the right things. Ticking off all the right boxes, and we had similar interests, we were…things weren't perfectly smooth, I was a little tentative at first, and he was so enamored with me, but we were mature adults, right?—and then…oh my god! He had a pregnant wife… and he's cheating on her, Charlotte." Her voice was cracking as she cried and tears poured from the corners of her eyes.

Brad and Ron were still a half a block away fighting.

"He was betraying two of us, actually more…because there was that little baby and his son. What a bastard! An utter bastard! And I'm not ready to consider dating anyone. Once you touch a hot stove... Not even if it's going to help you out of debt!" She crossed her arms over her chest and stomped off at a fast pace to catch up with Brad and Ron, and Charlotte came moving quickly beside her. None of the roommates were in a good mood on the ride home that evening.


	24. The Waters of March

A/N:

Dear Readers: thank you again for all of your kind words, your patience and giving me a little time. I even had a non-English reader use Google translate to PM me. It helps.

Now back to loving or hating this story as we wade through the angst (it ends after chapter 28) and then volume 3 "Healing" will begin and our story stops being so stormy, _I hope you think so_ , and their paths cross once again with a better outcome.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four

"The Waters of March"

 _It's a beam, it's a void,  
_ _it's a hunch, it's a hope._

 _and the riverbank talks.  
_ _of the waters of March_

 _It's the end of the strain,  
_ _it's the joy in your heart._

 _the foot, the ground,  
_ _the flesh, the bone,_

 _the beat of the road,  
_ _a slingshot stone._

 _A fish, a flash,  
_ _a silvery glow,_

 _a fight, a bet,  
_ _the range of the bow._

 _The bed of the well,  
_ _the end of the line,_

 _the dismay in the face,  
_ _it's a loss, it's a find._

* * *

A/N: both Liz and Fitz have their say today. Both of their stories begin the first week in April, but Liz is up first, and her story rolls through the entire month. Then we roll back time and get back to Fitz' story which only takes place over a few days. Because of the two perspectives and the different time-frames it may be a little confusing, so I just wanted to give you a head's up.

* * *

C.W.W. Collins called the next day and left a note for Liz. He asked if she wanted to have lunch. She did not return the phone call. He called her the following day, left a note, and said if lunch did not work out, perhaps they could have a breakfast meeting before she left for school. She still did not return _that_ phone call. The day after, he called and asked if she had any afternoons free that they could meet and have coffee? That was ignored as well. He did not call the fourth day and ask her about dinner, but he left a message for Charlotte Lucas and _Charlotte_ called him back.

He had discovered Charlotte's background: that she was enrolled at Stanford in graduate school in chemical and systems biology and that she was looking for a job in pharmaceutical devices. C.W. came wooing Ms. Lucas with a lunch request which she readily agreed to. It did not come, that one, with any attachments or ties. But she mentioned her lunch to Liz and both of them waited for further developments. Of course, there were more.

After the lunch, there was an afternoon meeting with her host, and somehow C.W. guessed or finagled the fact that Liz had no classes on Fridays, and he asked if he could come pick up Charlotte and would it not be nice if Liz was there to say hello? Charlotte pleaded with Liz to not disappear or run to the laundromat, but to please help her out and stay home. No going to the library or to visit Ron at work; Liz _had_ to be home.

Of course, Liz had to go to the meeting with Charlotte and C.W. It was all business and nothing else, that first week. On the next Friday there was another lunch meeting to which Liz was invited, more discussion about Charlotte's potential interests and fit in this company or that one. "Please, I am ready to find a job. He is doing so much for me," Charlotte explained in the morning.

But C.W. took Charlotte to lunch only on Fridays; he always insisted that Liz attend and at the end of lunch he would ask Liz for a date. Those lunch meetings were only ever on Liz' free time and always engineered in such a way that Liz felt she could not say no because Charlotte would plead with her for Char's sake.

So for weeks on end, every Friday, Liz and Charlotte had a business date with C.W.W. Collins. She wondered if he was going to keep this up in perpetuity and school would let out, and she would have no excuse not to go on a date with him. It seemed like that was where they were headed; she could not refuse his requests forever.

Liz was Charlotte's collateral in finding a job, but C.W. would never find her a job so long as Liz refused a date. She wondered if there was to be this permanent cycle as the weeks wore on, and she ground through her classes and attempted to get over Fitz.

She had felt betrayed by Fitz but there had been so much she had admired about him which was what made it so difficult to get over him despite her initial misgivings and their short time together. Had she liked him less, it would have been easier to move beyond, to think about returning those calls from Ramon and Cameron (male) who had both called to ask her out and whose requests she had politely refused. She thought they were both calling only because C.W. had shown interest.

That's the way of things. The more you love a person, the harder it is to get over loving that person. Most of her free time that spring quarter seemed to go to repairing her emotions and building back a foundation. She thought how she had shut herself off for so long after Kevin and how isolating that was. Liz was determined not to mope for the next three years. She had a better sense of herself now. In an odd way, going home to Merriton every weekend helped as the routine of family gave her some stability.

Something did nag at her, though, a sense of how something so wonderful between two people could be so…wrong. And had she done something wrong? Was there something she needed to examine about herself and improve, some area where she could do better? A mistake made? But school kept her busy and it was best simply to not think about it at all, to attempt to forget that those weeks ever existed.

She had found a new friend in Ron who had taken care of her that morning, who had taken her to the train station to see Aunt Alice. Before, he had always been Brad's boyfriend and not her friend. Ron seemed to seek her out at odd moments and talk to her more now. Aunt Alice required regular updates, so Liz sent almost daily texts about her life (outside of **Alice's Attic** business hours). Even if it was only just _I remembered to shower today._

* * *

Jane wrote in the middle of April to say she had seen a paid internship that was available in May. It conflicted a little with the end of school, but she was hoping she could get it and maybe delay starting until after school let out. Apparently a lot of companies thought that college students were available after the first week in May—that they were on semester systems and not quarter systems like Jane and Liz were. It was a company called Pemberley Energy. Jane added, "you were right, I think my little award for turbine design might be what was needed, so more as soon as I know."

Mary was vague and evasive about her situation. She said she was still in love with Bridget but refused to mention anything about moving to Boston to follow her friend or lover or girlfriend. The terms seemed to be interchangeable whenever Mary talked about Bridget, so Liz waited patiently to hear, each week, what Mary had to say in the car which turned out to not be a lot.

Because Mary could not make up her mind to tell her parents that she really wanted to go, she had nothing else to share with her sister. Liz seemed certain that moving was what she wished to do, but Mary appeared to lack the energy to confront Mrs. Bennet about moving across the country.

April dragged on with school and Friday lunches with C.W., but one day, during the last week, Jane called to say that she had been given the internship.

Liz had been sitting at her desk at home when the phone rang.

"Liz, you won't believe it, but I have a job this summer. It's paid and everything!" Jane had gushed as she soon as Liz picked up the phone.

"You got the internship!" gasped Liz.

"Yes!" cried Jane, "They said that they normally interview all candidates in person. The lady in HR was _emphatic_ about that, but then they relented since I was down south, and they let me do it by Skype! And everyone on the team seemed to think I'd be a good fit. And even though the person who's to be my boss was gone—apparently he's British and had to fly home— _I got the job_! They will let me start the Monday right after school ends. They're willing to let me start later than planned so long as I stay until school starts in September."

"I'm pleased for you," said Liz who had listened to this speech with a large grin on her face. "One of us needs life to go the right way."

"I just need to figure out where I can stay," said Jane. "I'm not sure I can afford Palo Alto."

"You know," Liz paused.

"What's up?" asked Jane.

"I'm wondering about Charlotte and this whole getting a job thing. She might move out and you could move in."

"But it's an internship. I only need space for the summer," explained Jane.

"What if they love you so much that they want to keep you on? And offer you a real job?" said Liz. "You did say you weren't sure you wanted to go back to graduate school in the fall. Your stupid TA."

"I know, but I can't say I have an internship and then think it will turn into a real job," argued Jane.

"You can dream," asserted Liz.

"I suppose so," said Jane. "But it's turbine design!" and Liz could hear the excitement in Jane's voice as she practically sang out the words.

"Now for sure don't let Dad con you into working at the Maker Faire," growled Liz.

"Liz, I already told him I would," sighed Jane.

"It's bad enough that he calls us _booth babes_ ," said Liz, "but you're going to want extra time for work, studying up for this internship, won't you?"

"I will, but I'll make it all work," said Jane. "You'll help me, right?"

"Me? I'm going to be so swamped by the end of May that you'll be lucky if I remember to call you on your birthday and wish you well! Twenty-four!" cried Liz. "Wow! I can't believe it. Getting old."

"Funny, I don't feel old," said Jane. "I feel invigorated." She paused, "I got a job!"

"Maybe that's an indication that finishing school isn't for you. It isn't always the right thing for everyone, is it? Maybe a job is your thing."

"True, but there is always so much more to learn," said Jane. "I hope I never stop."

"You can learn on the job. Learn as you're doing and as you make money," said Liz, "or as our dear friend Charlotte says, as you're paying back your student loans."

* * *

There was work (there was always work), and Fitz concentrated on it, having found new energy for his company and his job. But it was when he was in a meeting, as someone was presenting, that a thought came to him. _Liz probably would know what would be a good gift for his housekeeper._ There was something inside, some pain, that sense of abandonment again. He left his phone, the paperwork on the table, and excused himself, having to step away.

He came back with renewed vigor and renewed vision thinking again of what Aunt Kate had said about pride in your company and about planning for the next generation. He knew that was the best way to go. Take pride in what his father and his aunt had done. Take pride in what he and Bob and his employees had done collectively, and moving forward, he would consider the company's future in terms of family and the next generation, how his children's efforts would see it through.

He recalled Bob's arguments on the plane ride home. He thought Bob was wrong. They were in a good space; they could keep innovating and find new discoveries, new niches in energy.

What they _were_ doing was what they _needed_ to be doing. To change or tweak their business model would be changing the company, it would reflect poorly on Pemberley Energy, reflect poorly on him as its leader. They should redouble their focus on innovations in the key areas, as well as continue with licensing revenue—Bob's idea. That would do them well for the next ten or twenty years.

Taking such a view at work meant he started to come up against people who had appreciated the fact that he had been more easy-going in years past. Should there be comments about his arrogance in not listening to the advice of his employees, or that people in break rooms or hallways whispered about his newly displayed scorn for anyone else's opinion; Mr. Mason Darcy, CEO, did not seem to notice or care.

He owned the majority of the company's stock. His cousin was the next primary stockholder, but Bob seemed to have become a ghost of a figure, putting in his work with his door closed, and not displaying his usually cavalier character. That there had been a disagreement between the two company's leaders was obvious to its employees. Since Easter, he and Bob had maintained a very professional relationship, but their friendship was non-existent.

* * *

Fitz slept in, and did not bother with his treadmill. Jogging the streets of Atherton was not an option. He puttered into the kitchen to make coffee this Saturday morning. He considered the event from the night before, and went over all the people he had met but, in particular, the women he had met. He wondered if they had been there all along, and he had not noticed them had it not been for Aunt Kate's suggestion. Now that he was looking; they were there.

He admitted his first criteria was their looks, which was the best looking, the most attractive to him. He found he had a sudden preference for brunettes. He did not know he was a man who had a type. He thought all of that was hype, but he found himself scanning the room for brunettes. Fitz also realized how business-like he had been at these meetings before, but now he was not so quick to be out the door. He talked to people more and about less serious topics: sports or politics, even the weather, not just business.

This was not, however, a venture where he could ask Bob for advice. He was on his own; Bob would not support him. But Fitz thought he knew how to do this. You called people up to schedule appointments. You called women up to schedule dates, that was simple enough. He had gone with a pocketful of business cards and had passed them out with liberality.

When his coffee brewed he went to sit on his couch. He realized he had two couches but he always sat on the one underneath the windows in the family room. Jack sat in his usual place. Cherie had come to beg for food then wandered off.

There had been two women that caught his eye; he thought them both interesting and beautiful. He had exchanged cards with them, it still being a little more business than pleasure. Fitzwilliam had certainly given his business cards to other people as well, but with these two there was also a hint of pleasure. One of them, Lauren Leigh, had suggested that she would be at a talk about risk management that evening, and he considered that he should go. It was a perfectly reasonable event for him to attend and to run into her again.

His thoughts were considering his evening when hunger got him off the couch. He found some bagels in the freezer and popped one into toast. He really did need to make a trip to the grocery store since he would be on his own, with Yvonne on maternity leave. A rap on the door startled him; it was the back door, not the front bell. He looked to see Mike, Yvonne's husband, at the patio door.

Fitz waved him in but Mike called, "it's locked." He always thought of the Reynolds as being family and coming and going in his house. It felt odd to have to go and unlock the door to let him in. He supposed Yvonne had keys to let herself in and out, with Derek trailing behind her. It was only Benny who did not follow the rules and went in and out of the dog door that had been installed for Cherie.

"It's time," cried Mike.

Fitzwilliam could only look at him in confusion, and without understanding what Mike meant. "Time for what?" he asked.

"The baby!" cried Mike. "I have to take Yvonne…to the hospital…to have the baby," he explained more.

"Oh!" Fitz processed the news. "Well, congratulations," he stumbled over the word. He still felt as if he did not understand.

"My sister is stuck in traffic," said Mike. "She lives across the Bay, and there is an accident. She is coming but is stuck on the bridge. Can you watch Derek?"

Fitzwilliam's first thought was how much he did not want to watch a five year old on a Saturday morning. But Yvonne had done so much for him and Georgie, so he nodded, "yes."

"Thanks," said Mike who ran back to the little in-law cottage. Mike returned not just with Derek, but with a heavy-looking backpack, shoved it down just inside the door as Derek shuffled behind his father. "Thanks Mason. I'll text you Cindy's number as soon as we get to the hospital so you'll have her contact. But gotta go!" He ran off.

"Hi Mr. Mason," said Derek.

"Good morning," said Fitzwilliam. He then realized how formal that sounded as if he had stepped into a conference room with some business visitor. "Hi Derek!" he tried again. "What do you want to do? Did you eat?" he asked.

"Yeah," answered the little boy.

"That's good, umm," he stood looking down at the kid. "What do you want to do?" he repeated.

"Color."

"Okay, you can color." Fitz stood looking at the boy, assuming the kid would get out what he needed, but Derek still looked at him. "Do you need help?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Fitzwilliam went to pick up the backpack and was surprised at how heavy it was. "There's a lot of stuff in here."

"Yeah," said Derek. He could tell Derek was not his usual burst-of-energy-in-the-morning self. He wondered if the boy was feeling a little overwhelmed and scared with the idea of his mother having a baby. Fitz opened the backpack and found a coloring book and a packet of crayons.

"There's only eight crayons in here," remarked Fitzwilliam.

"Yeah," said Derek.

"I wonder if Georgie has more crayons. Would you like more crayons?" he prompted.

"Yeah!" Suddenly his little short answers changed. There was a drawn-out answer this time.

"Do you want to go look with me, see if we can find more crayons?" offered Fitz.

"Yeah!" He had certainly sparked Derek's interest. "I have never been in Georgie's room," he said.

They went up the stairs together, opened the door and looked at Georgie's room. She had a desk with a hutch over the top; items were stashed in cubbies there. He saw what he was hoping to find: a big box of crayons, sixty-four assorted colors, "how about this?"

"That's a lot," said Derek. They made their way happily back down the stairs. Just as they got settled at the kitchen table, his phone chirped with Mike's sister's contact number and a note that they were at the hospital.

"So, Derek, are you excited to have a little brother?" Fitzwilliam asked the boy.

"Yeah."

"Do you know what they're going to call him?" he asked.

"Gray," said Derek.

"Gray?" Fitz was not sure he heard correctly or was Derek looking at the crayons?

"Yeah, he has a bigger name but we're gonna call him Gray." He kept coloring but then he stopped suddenly. "Mr. Mason, are Mommy and Daddy going to forget about me when Gray comes?"

"No!" Fitzwilliam answered emphatically, "why do you ask?"

He had been about ready to refill his coffee cup. He was tired from his previous night and felt how ill prepared he was to babysit a five year old.

"Some of the kids in my class say their parents ignore them once they have other kids," said Derek. "They don't like them anymore."

"No, that's not true," Fitzwilliam answered, "parents don't forget about their first kid when they have their second."

"But how do you know?" asked Derek strongly asserting that the kids in his class had more information than Mr. Mason on this topic; they were _far_ more informed.

"Well," said Fitz, "because I'm the first kid in my family, and I was not forgotten when my sister came along."

"Oh!" cried Derek. "Do you have a sister? I didn't know that."

"Georgie," explained Fitzwilliam with a little surprise. "Georgie is my sister."

"Oh," said Derek. It was clear that the little boy had not connected that Mr. Mason and Georgie were brother and sister. "Your parents didn't forget you?"

"No," he answered with assurance.

"They still played with you?" It was a question he wanted reassurance on.

"Yes," said Fitz. "My mother liked to color too, or rather she liked to draw," he corrected.

"Really? Can I meet her?" Derek actually looked up at him.

"No…she's gone," said Fitz.

"Oh."

"But she liked to draw. She would draw on everything, any piece of paper in the house—she would draw on it," explained Fitzwilliam.

"I like to draw," said Derek who went back to coloring. "I sometimes get in trouble for drawing on the walls."

"Well I think you should just try drawing on paper," said Fitzwilliam. He sat and watched Derek draw a little more. He thought again about his mother. The way she liked to just doodle on anything. Any scrap of paper. How much that had been a part of her.

Then his thoughts rolled over to considering his father. They were darker thoughts, darker and more complex feelings towards a man who gave him so much and then walked away. A man who had no pride in his family, in his son, and in his daughter.

Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy sat and watched Derek, and he thought about one day having his own son. He thought Aunt Kate was right: I need to get on with this business of considering the next generation for the company.

* * *

A/N: yes I know it is April in the story and the title is "Waters of March." It doesn't have to be literal. Consider this many ways, events which were set in motion in March and flowed through into April. It's a song about little annoying things, big topics, barriers, beginnings, but the promise of things to come as well.

Most of the jazz songs I have used for my titles were ones I was quite familiar with, but I only discovered this gem by Susannah McCorkle when I began writing this story. While I have hesitated in pointing out specific artists and songs as I did not want to have anyone consider it referred to either Liz or Fitz by saying the artist was say Billie Holiday or Ray Charles (or not by YOUR favorite artist), here I would encourage anyone to go listen to McCorkle's rendition simply because it's so unique and delightful.

I will include a playlist of songs and specific artists in my end notes.


	25. Someday You'll Be Sorry

Chapter Twenty-Five

"Someday You'll Be Sorry"

 _Someday you'll be sorry  
_ _The way you treated me was wrong  
_ _I was the one who taught you all you know  
_ _Your friends have told you to make me sing another song_

He asked Lauren out for drinks after the risk management event. She agreed. They had an interesting evening talking business yet winding innuendos into their conversation about topics which were _not_ business related. But they both drove so they parted and promised to call each other.

He had a text as he was driving home which he checked at a stop light. Derek's little brother had made his appearance with appropriate height and weight details: Grayson Thatcher Reynolds. He thought about Derek and his Aunt Cindy who had picked him up soon after Fitz had finished his second cup of coffee and while Derek was still coloring at his breakfast table. Would Cindy wake Derek to tell him or let him sleep?

Fitzwilliam Darcy waited until Tuesday to call Lauren. They arranged to have lunch on Wednesday. She worked as the comptroller for a pharmaceutical company. He wondered that she did not seem more compatible with his cousin Bob. But perhaps it was... _boring_ to date someone in the same field. You found someone interesting because they did something different and you could listen and share about yourself.

Wednesday evening he was sitting at home eating take-out Mexican when he got a phone call from Carmen Brighton, the other woman he had also flirted with at the _Innovations_ event. He was surprised, but flattered, at having a woman call him. In this day and age it was perfectly acceptable.

Unlike Lauren, Carmen was more blatant about her interest in him, her _romantic_ interest, and did not hide it with suggesting discussions of work. She did say that there was an elite networking event coming up, and asked him was he going? He said he had not planned to, but since she mentioned it, was she inviting him? "Yes," she purred, "I am." They hung up with plans to meet on Friday night. Fitz thought, how interesting. You take pride in yourself, and things happen. You meet people and women call you up and ask you out. .

Carmen sold software. She had left school behind and blazed a trail as a sales woman in the Valley, making quite a name for herself (she assured Fitzwilliam). She drove a BMW, same series, same year as Fitz, though hers was white, a discovery that had made them both laugh when they found their cars parked near each other after the networking event.

Unlike Lauren, with whom he had only managed a friendly peck on the cheek after that luncheon on Wednesday, there was definitely kissing involved in the parking lot with Carmen. She was busy, however, on Saturday night, but that didn't mean he couldn't ask Lauren out. There was now kissing involved with Lauren on Saturday night. Things had moved beyond a gentle peck on the cheek.

Again, Fitzwilliam thought he had come to his senses and had found the right place to be. It was the right fit. He knew his place in the world. There had always been aspects of his job which he enjoyed; he had never denied that. Not like Bob whose tagline had always been, "I hate my job."

Darcy just felt he worked too many hours. He had shouldered so many burdens so early, bared so many trials at such an early age. It did not mean the next decade, once he turned thirty, had to be all trials. There could be happiness. Molding himself to the company and discovering his sense of importance, his self-worth was invaluable.

On Monday, he had his Silicon Valley Executives meeting. Again, he took his time. Rather than going for the program, he went to meet people. Rather than being a simple information gatherer, he worked his way around the room, talking to people with that pocketful of business cards.

It seemed neither Carmen nor Lauren was a member of this club, but he did meet another woman: Lenore Hearst.

Darcy looked at her business card and said, "I can't help but ask?" and lifted an eyebrow.

"No relation," she replied.

"Sorry, I am sure you get that a lot," he grinned.

She answered, "yes I do. The Hearsts are an institution in California. I doubt I would be working for a living if I was related to _that_ family. But no, I am not related to the famous Hearsts. I still have to pay an entrance fee to see Hearst Castle."

"You know, I've never been," he said.

"I have. It sort of goes with having that name," she smiled at him. "I had to check out my…distant family."

He thought, as he was driving home, that he liked the name Lenore. There was something old-fashioned about it. He liked that. Not modern or short and clipped like Liz. She had golden blond hair and blue eyes, and Darcy patted himself on the back as he considered he did not have a type, as with Lauren and Carmen. He knew he would call her, but as with Carmen, Lenore called him.

Lenore ran a small software firm which provided customizable software for public agencies, like small city governments, or park and rec programs. She had found a niche and worked hard to maintain her space and to be the _best_ , despite competition. But being her own boss meant she had flexibility, just as Fitzwilliam, Pemberley Energy's CEO had flexibility. She explained during that phone call that she was going out on a limb, being "rather bold," but did Mason Darcy want to go see Hearst Castle with her on Friday?

Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy thought that he was rather enjoying this new-found sense of pride and confidence, and replied he would "love to" to her suggestion. It was a four-hour drive from the Bay Area, and commute traffic was horrible, but he agreed to leave at 7:00 in the morning, which allowed plenty of time for traffic snarls for their 12:10 tour which she had ' _miraculously'_ booked, despite the short notice.

He wanted to stretch his legs after such a call, so he took his coffee cup and went into the break-room to pour himself coffee rather than ask Alex to do it for him. When he turned around from the pot, Bob was standing behind him with his own mug.

Bob looked at his cousin, "what are you up to?"

"I hate that you can read me," said Fitzwilliam.

"Yes, but only to a certain extent, and I have been trying my best to ignore you since you actually think Aunt Kate has a good idea," growled Bob.

"I don't want to argue," began Fitzwilliam.

"Move out of the way and let me get coffee," said Bob and shuffled past him, knocking into his cousin with his shoulder to get to the coffee pot. Fitz stepped aside, but he did not return to his office. He did not like the fact that he and Bob were not seeing eye-to-eye. They _did_ jointly own the company.

"Look, Bob," began Darcy. "We have to think long term…"

"I _am_ thinking long term. I just don't think it has to involve parts of my anatomy," retorted Bob. "I'm thinking about the company. I'm thinking about what we need to do today, what we need to do tomorrow, in three months, in a year, five years and ten years. I'm the CFO, _that's how I work._ "

"I'm considering the company too," said Fitzwilliam.

"No, you're not, 'cause you're not thinking straight," said Bob. "Anyone who thinks Aunt Kate has good advice _is not thinking straight_."

"But I believe I _am_ ," asserted Darcy. "I'm right in this case. Why can't we discuss long-term planning?"

"Because you're on the rebound. No doubt you're having a good time because you're following Aunt Kate's dictates."

"So you're going to discount any suggestion I have because Liz disappeared?"

"Pretty much," said Bob.

"How come I don't get to hold relationships against you?" asked Darcy.

"Because I am the expert," answered Bob.

"I'm taking Friday off," Fitzwilliam changed the subject. Maybe he was boasting.

"What? Why?" stuttered Bob.

"I have a date," said Darcy.

"With Liz?" Bob said expectantly.

"I told you, I have no idea what happened to Liz."

"Oh," said Bob. "Who with?"

"A woman I met last night."

"You're taking a day off of work to have a date with a woman you just met last night?" asked Bob in an unusually quiet voice.

"You have problems with that?" challenged Fitzwilliam.

"A bucket load. But as you seem to be on 'rebound and ruin your life mode,' I will not say anything. Just…oh never mind," and Bob walked away.

Fitzwilliam called Lauren up for lunch on Wednesday. After all, they had had lunch the previous Wednesday. He enjoyed himself very much. No awkward peck goodbye this time, but an enjoyable and affectionate farewell.

Carmen called Wednesday night, but after all, she had called the previous Wednesday night. She chided him for his not picking up the phone to call her after their adventures in the parking lot the previous Friday. She suggested they do something that Friday. He had to apologize that he was otherwise _engaged_ , but suggested he was free Saturday night. They made plans to meet for dinner in an entirely not-business-related manner.

Darcy was feeling rather smug at work on Thursday. It must have showed. He was not sure if word got back to his cousin, but Bob showed up, walking into his office and closing the door behind him to lean on it.

Fitzwilliam looked at him, "I thought you weren't speaking to me until I got this out of my system," he quipped.

"I happened to have lunch at the same seafood place yesterday. Is _she_ the one you're ditching work for?" asked Bob.

"Actually…no." Fitz chair's screeched as he leaned back at an acute angle with a broad grin on his face. "That's Lauren."

"Who are you going away with tomorrow?" asked Bob.

"Lenore."

"Are they all L-named? Is this some weird fetish for women whose names start with L because you'll never get over Liz?" asked Bob.

"No, there's Carmen too. I am having dinner with her on Saturday night," said Fitz.

"You're a bastard, you know that. This isn't going to end well, and they're all going to end up hating you. You don't treat women like this, Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy!" cried his cousin.

" _You_ are giving _me_ advice on how to treat women? _You_ of all people? _Really_?" cried Fitz.

"What do you know about _how I operate_?" asked Bob.

"I know you like sex, you like to have it frequently, and you are successful at seduction," answered Fitz.

"All points, yes," agreed Bob. "But that doesn't mean I play the field. I _do not_ play with women's hearts. There are rules, as I once explained to you."

"Rules? Did I miss the day they passed those out in class? Get out of here, Bob," yelled Fitzwilliam.

"Did you meet them all the same night at the same event? What if you are out with one and run into another of your girlfriends?" asked Bob.

Darcy had no reply.

"I appreciate that you've had a hard time these past years, but suddenly deciding that family pride is to be your hallmark, that stamp that indicates to other people that you're a _superior_ man because you've done so much, achieved so much is foolish. Do you suddenly need people to stroke your back and tell you what a good boy you've been?" cried Bob.

"Could you just get out of my office and end the lecture Bob?" growled Fitz.

"Pride is not an indication of quality, how genuine we are. Being genuine is how we treat people, Mason. _Actions_."

"Yet she left me, disappeared," said Fitz.

"See, I knew this was about Liz," said Bob.

"And if I need call security to get you out of my office, I will do it, so please leave," cried Fitzwilliam.

Bob left.

* * *

Lenore had given him her home address readily, unlike Liz who had been so guarded about such things. Darcy picked Lenore up, and they headed out of town. They fell back on discussing work, not that they could not discuss their work in detail since they both ran their own companies, but he had wanted a little more. She had a lot to share about starting a company using money from an angel investor, hiring the right people, and working hard.

He could not help thinking, as she talked about all of the time and effort she had put in through the years that she was older than him. He thought that such a point did not really matter though, and any woman who had founded a successful company was likely to have been 'at it' for many years.

There were the usual traffic slow-downs, but they lucked out with no accidents to delay them. It gave the two of them time to find a little coffee and pie shop to grab a bite to eat. There was something about eating that allowed for a little more intimacy. He had found that with Liz, and Lenore shared more about being an only child and being the apple of her parents' eyes. She seemed to have come to the same conclusion he had, that she worked too much, and was looking for companionship.

They lingered a bit too long and then had to rush to join their tour. It was for the 'Upstairs Suites,' all the personal and private rooms in Hearst Castle, including William Randolph Hearst's own quarters. Fitzwilliam had been in many expensive mansions in the Bay Area, but nothing like this. No one lived like this anymore. Hearst Castle was not a house or a mansion; it really was a castle, a fairy-tale castle.

At one point, Lenore had turned to him with a quizzical look and asked, "your father had money, right?"

"Yes," he replied.

"His name was William too. I wonder if it goes with the name. William Randolph. What was your father's middle name, Mason?"

"David, for his father," he answered.

"Oh," she said, almost sounding disappointed. "I wondered if it wasn't Randolph, and if the name was somehow tied to his success. William David is honorable enough," she smiled at him. "Life is like that, having the right start; the right name can help you go places. I was to be named Lisa originally, ugly name, but my father argued for Lenore. Unusual enough that it has got me in the door and helped me out."

"My given name is Fitzwilliam. I use my middle name actually," he said.

"Yes I know. I looked you up," she explained as they followed along with their tour. "That one is odd, perhaps a little too odd to get you where you need to go in business and in life."

They finished their tour and chose to stop at a beach and take some time to watch waves crash against the shore, and to enjoy the fresh air, the open space, and the sparsely populated sand. Beaches are crowded on the weekends, but not on weekdays.

It was still the same expected four-hour drive home and this time they hit traffic. It was Friday afternoon, and there were people trying to get out of town for the weekend. Somehow, even though they were heading back _into_ town, it was still a nightmare, and the backup extended even to the farthest extent of what could be considered the San Francisco Bay Area, what had once been _the country_ , farmland.

When they hit a particularly slow spot on the freeway, Lenore checked her phone. "There seems to be an accident, actually it looks like there are two."

"Well, that's what we get, but it was an enjoyable day. I am still glad you suggested it," he replied.

"You know, Mason. San Juan Baptista is the next turn-off. Have you ever been there?" Lenore asked.

"No, isn't that a mission?" Part of his brain recalled grade school lessons on California missions.

"It's a town too. We could just stop over there," she suggested.

"I am getting hungry," he said.

"No," Lenore replied. " _Stop over_." The traffic really was at a stand-still so he looked over at his companion of the day to catch her eye and her meaning.

"Spend the night?" he asked.

"There is this arrogant, aloof air about you, Mason, that makes me want to see if I can crack the shell and see what's underneath," her voice was modulated, soft, and part of his brain thought, _seductive,_ though part of him was still processing her proposal.

Part of him was ready to turn off onto a small highway to go see San Juan Baptista, and to find a small hotel to spend the night with this lady he had only met on Monday. But he considered his father confessor, Bob. His cousin telling him he needed to look at Liz's actions, and he thought such advice was a two-way street. His own actions spoke about who he was. He was not sure where he and Lenore were heading and what sleeping with her would mean.

He had the sense that she was a woman who had decided she was ready to settle down and marry. Though it was the space he wanted to move into, he did not think it was something he could decide with one date, despite its being a long car ride, and with one night in a hotel room. He and Liz had had their little morning meetings, their dinners. There is something about time away to contemplate a conversation, mull over someone's words, to think and to talk together again. A relationship took time to develop.

He turned to the companion in his car, "it is only five. We can make it home." He sounded very practical. "I am tempted," he explained further, "but _for sure_ , next time."

"Next time," she agreed and seemed content with that answer. It did mean there was an awkward period in the car for a while, but traffic began moving again, and they found a rhythm of conversation again. There were topics enough to get them home, to Lenore's house.

It was just about eight, dark, and they were both tired. But Lenore was not going to give up without one more try, so she mentioned that it was still early enough that they could order in (she was not much of a cook) and was he _sure_ he did not want to stay? They had had their arms around each other; their lips had discovered one another. He assured her it would be a welcome suggestion, the next time.

He stopped for fast food, a burger and fries, and considered he could have had a far more interesting dinner with a far more interesting dessert when, instead, he was going home to sleep alone. Part of him did think, _damn Bob for being my conscious about all of this_. But he also could not help but consider the parallels with Liz cooking him dinner and that most fantastic night they had spent together. He really did not want to be thinking about Liz when he had spent the day with Lenore. He also had a date with Carmen the next day. It had been a long day. He went home and did his best to attempt to sleep.

Carmen proposed the same sort of after-dinner event as Lenore, asking him to stay. Fitzwilliam wondered that he did not expect that. He used the same line on Carmen as he had on Lenore, "next time." Then he went home to an even more sleepless night than the previous one. He felt like texting his cousin at one o'clock in the morning with some very choice words which would have gotten him kicked out of middle school for knowing. But it was not truly Bob's fault for making him consider that his own actions were ones to look at too. He could not help the moments Liz slipped into his consciousness.

He considered looking her up, wondered if that might help explain her more. But there had been that guy in his dorm that third year in college who did not take no for an answer when his girlfriend split up with him. He took to stalking her, leaving notes on her car weighed down with bullets. Despite a restraining order, the guy had been arrested breaking into her dorm room, and convicted. The man's computer had been a shrine to his ex-girlfriend; he had wired cameras to spy on her; he had paid every single information service possible for every scrap of information about his ex. Where did curiosity end and obsession begin? He did not Google Liz.

But Fitzwilliam found something inside him, and he just resolved to do his best to forget Liz and to stick with _the plan._ Aunt Kate's plan, his own plan for Pemberley Energy. He had promised both women a night in his company whenever they met up again. He would concentrate on that. He would concentrate on work and think no more of Liz Bennet.

* * *

Georgie called him. His hands began to sweat as he accepted the call. She never willingly _called_ him if she could text or Facetime him. Fitz wondered what was wrong.

"I've changed my mind," she said. Georgie didn't bother to identify herself.

"About what?" he asked as his mind ran through a half dozen issues that could be troubling her.

"I'm not coming home for the summer," she said.

"Oh," it was not what he had expected her to say. "What are you going to do then?"

"Take an art class. We talked about this. You said I shouldn't change my major, besides which I thought it would wind up Aunt Kate if I didn't come home."

"So you'll stay in Galveston?" he asked.

"No, I'm going to move to Houston for the summer. Allison is coming with me. I _said_ it was to be a different school, right? Anyways, I've applied to UH for their first summer term and I'll try my hand at art."

"Wow. So I won't see you at all?" he asked.

"Well…I may not do _all_ the summer terms. Perhaps I'll take a break and come home in August before I have to go back to Galveston for the fall," she said, and he could hear that she was uncertain about the whole plan.

He wanted to tell her to stick with biology, even though he was pleased she had found a solution to see if she had any budding artistic talent. But she was also, technically, an adult. "It all sounds good," he assured her. "Keep me informed, and let me know when you'll come home. I'll miss you not being here."

"Thanks Mason, bye!" she sang out and hung up.

* * *

It seemed some at work did not appreciate his new outlook, because it meant a change in his attitude. He, Jackson Carter, and Dennis Bolton-Meyers got into a rather heated discussion about the battery project and Pemberley Energy becoming a government contractor which left all of them frustrated and angry. It made many wonder if the project was to be a viable option for Pemberley if the principle players could not agree.

Charles came to see him. His friend seemed to have caught on about Fitzwilliam's mood, but Fitz also wondered if he had had no luck with women in Silicon Valley as Charles appeared less than his usual cheerful self in their meeting. Even though it had been an impromptu discussion, it had been solely about business. Charles had then thanked him and walked away. Perhaps his trip home still weighed on Bingley's mind as his grandmother had passed away.

There had not been that usual friendly talk which denigrated into a personal and comfortable discussion afterward. Fitz realized how much he enjoyed that and looked forward to those little moments with his friend. Maybe Charles had finally adopted a routine at Pemberley Energy and needed to run off and do something. Perhaps Fitz' mood threw him off. He did not know.

Fitzwilliam did think to call Carmen, and she snagged his Friday night. Just dinner again? He agreed. Tuesday he called both Lauren and Lenore. He made plans for Wednesday luncheon with Lauren which was largely a repeat of the past two lunches. Lenore and he made plans for dinner on Saturday, a romantic dinner. With promises of dessert afterward.


	26. It Should've Been Me

Chapter Twenty-Six

"It Should've Been Me"

 _It should've been me  
_ _With that real fine chick  
_ _It should've been me  
_ _To have been her chaperone  
_ _When I got to the corner  
_ _I saw a sharp cat  
_ _With a 300 dollar suit on  
_ _And a 100 dollar hat_

He was hungry earlier than usual that Friday. Fitzwilliam thought he should just order something in for lunch but then suddenly decided to go out. In getting his things together and locking his door, he noticed that Alex appeared to be getting ready to leave as well.

"Heading out for lunch?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Need me to get you something?" Alex sounded ill-used.

"No," he corrected. "I need to get out. Care to join me?"

"Yes!" she answered, the tone of her voice changing instantly; he could also tell by the smile which spread on her face. He thought about all of the admonishments which HR had given about the separation of duties with his admin, one who had made assumptions about her job and her role in his life. _But he did not care right then_. He wanted a companion for lunch. They went out to eat.

They went to **Surf and Turf**. The restaurant had a wall of windows in an L-shaped room and people vied to have a table next to one of those windows even though the view was the parking lot. But still, a table with a view was a desired thing. Fitzwilliam had no reservation, but it didn't matter. He looked the part; he and Alex only had to wait a few minutes to get one of those coveted tables.

"Window seat," assured the hostess. Unlike most places, she had on a rather colorful dress and not the black and white most servers sported.

"Mason!" a voice danced over to him. Fitz looked at the corner table and saw C.W.W. Collins sharing a table with four companions. He was waved over enthusiastically by that living Ken doll with the neatly trimmed beard. Fitz groaned a little inside but thought he might as well stop and say hi to this would-be investor.

He whispered to Alex, "this is an investor, C.W. Collins."

"Oh! I've heard of him," she said in return. Fitz watched her straighten her shoulders and spine as she clicked on her heels expectantly beside him to that large table.

C.W. stood up and stepped away from his chair. He had such a seat that he commanded quite a view of the restaurant, and Fitzwilliam assumed it had been done deliberately. The man could see anyone coming and going which was why he had pounced on Fitz.

Fitzwilliam walked up and was about to put his hand in C.W.'s when he looked at the table. There were three women and one man seated at that round table. One of the women was Liz. He could not help but stop and stare at her as she stared back, both of them bewildered at this circumstance. He pulled his eyes from Liz; though it was difficult to do so, difficult to not think that the last time he had seen her was as he was pulling his clothes on in her bedroom.

He looked at C.W.'s face, shook the man's hand, and greeted him. "How are you?"

"I am well, always, always well. I am the golden boy, don't you know," he shook his head a little in a preening sort of gesture. He was definitely a peacock. "Who do you have with you today, Mason?"

"This is my PA, Alex. Alejandra Carlyle," Fitzwilliam introduced his assistant.

"Alejandra," cooed C.W. "That is quite an interesting name."

"Thank you," smiled Alex, who reached over and shook hands very professionally and agreeably.

"Having a little lunch today. My usual Friday lunch companions. This is Charlotte Lucas," he pointed to a nondescript woman. Fitz would be hard-pressed later to describe her because his eyes slipped past her to look again at Liz hoping her introduction came next. Liz was wearing a blouse he recognized, the one with those yellow buttons he had found so tempting that night. "This is Liz Bennet," purred their host with a touch of possessiveness Fitz did not like. He thought he heard a sound from Alex as she recognized the name of his former girlfriend.

"I am Margaret Kent," said the last woman inserting herself into the introductions. "I work for Epsom Biopharma." She stood and held out her hand. Lauren Leigh worked for Epsom, and Fitz wondered then if Margaret and Lauren knew each other, and had Lauren spoken of him? Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy began to think his idea to go out to lunch had been a _bad_ idea.

"This is Raj K. He has such a long last name that we just say K!" chuckled C.W. "Please…Mason, you need to come join us," cheered C.W.

"You look like you already have a full table," said Fitzwilliam. He was of two minds. There was Liz, and he felt like he wanted to grab her, and drag her over to another table to grill her about why she had disappeared. But on the other hand, Margaret worked for the same company as one of the three women he was dating. He did not want word to get back to Lauren.

Fitz realized that out of the three women he was seeing, he knew more about Lauren. He thought he probably valued her the most, and would not want her hurt. He did not want her thinking he was dating his admin. Curiosity won, however, "We'll join you. Sure you have room?" Fitz answered.

"Plenty," said C.W. The hostess, who had been watching the entire exchange, brought chairs as the others moved their own around the table to make room. C.W. insisted that Alex come sit by him, but he had no further suggestions about how they sort themselves. Liz was tucked between C.W. and Ms. Lucas, and did not appear to have any desire to make room next to her. The logical place for Fitz was next to this employee of Epsom Biopharma, and he dutifully took his place there. It did mean he was almost directly across from Liz which gave him an excuse for his eyes to linger on her.

There was some scrambling as that party of five had already ordered, but their assigned waiter had been hovering and dutifully added their selections to the bill. Fitz was not sure what he ordered because he used most of the time, rather than scanning the menu, to look at Liz across from him.

She was still just as lovely. Her eyes just as brilliant. Deep down, he thought they looked a little pained. His insides crimped in the beginnings of anger thinking about how much he had cared for her and not understanding why she had walked away from the relationship without a word.

"So Mason, why are you out for lunch?" asked their host.

"Because I need to eat," Fitzwilliam answered.

"I never waste a meal," replied C.W.," when I can have company and conversation. Oh! That's right! You have never been to one of my parties though I have sent an invitation or two."

"Yes, I did see those," replied Fitz vaguely. "I often have other events on the weekends." He looked from C.W. over to Liz sitting next to him who seemed to be staring down at her napkin.

"I am working on trying to find Ms. Lucas a job. She's at Stanford. Graduate school, studying chemical and systems biology. But she is thinking about pharmaceuticals, which is why I have invited Raj and Margaret here," explained C.W.

"So what is your role at Epsom, Margaret?" asked Fitzwilliam.

"I'm a senior scientist," replied Margaret.

"Raj is a chemist, at CarBlem," said C.W. not letting the man speak for himself. "That's my job. I like to hook up one person," their host held out a hand, "with another," he brought up his other hand and then slapped his palms together. "Bringing people together," he smiled almost as if he expected applause.

C.W. then looked around the table, starting with Alex, sweeping his gaze around and finally landing on Liz where his eyes lingered. Fitz could not help but wonder if they were dating. Was that why she had disappeared, had she given up on him for this living plastic man?

"So…Liz," Alex addressed Liz. "Are you studying biology, like Ms. Lucas there?"

"No," answered Liz. She did not offer any more information. Fitz knew she could say more, defend herself, but she did not.

"Ah, ha ha," said C.W. "You have found the black sheep of our table here. How clever of you, Ms. Carlyle, to discover our Liz." He leaned over and put a hand on Liz' shoulder then pulled it away as if it was too hot.

"Really, what do you mean?" said Alex in confusion.

Fitz felt just as confused. It seemed that was just what their host wanted, but appetizers were brought to the table just then, and C.W. did not answer while they watched the waiter serve the food. He feigned forgetfulness until Alex put a hand on C.W.'s arm.

"Mr. Collins, you were telling us about the _black sheep_?" reminded Alex.

"Oh yes," said C.W. "So Liz here…I met at a party at my house. She came with her roommate, who happens to be Ms. Lucas, and with some other fellows I did _not_ meet."

"They were my _other_ roommates," Liz inserted.

"Oh really, didn't know," said C.W. "So…I often host little parties, and I hook up people in business with people looking for jobs. And a lot of those people looking for jobs happen to be college students, like Ms. Lucas here."

"Oh, yes? I didn't know you did recruiting," said Alex enthusiastically. "I only knew about your business ventures."

"Recruiting! I never thought of it that way. I feel like I a scout for a sports team!" said C.W. " _Recruiting_!"

Fitz gritted his teeth as he listened to the man blather on, but he looked again at Liz who obviously did not like being talked about almost as if she was not there. He wondered, as he looked at her, then at Ms. Lucas (in an attempt to not always be staring at Liz), if Liz had her phone on her.

He had memorized her number, but in a fit one night, had deleted her contact from his phone. It did not mean he could delete the memory of her number from his mind. He thought he might be able to text her while they sat at the table.

"So anyways, I met Liz at a party where everyone was studying chemistry or biology or engineering, and here I am zipping out to my terrace having worked myself to death, talk talk talk. I sit down, and there is this gorgeous young lady eating chips, Liz here. I ask her where she goes to school, and she tells me Stanford!"

Fitz had been listening to the conversation but he had mostly been focused on the embarrassment that Liz was experiencing in being talked about, but he had to whip his head over to stare at C.W. to figure out if he had heard correctly. "Stanford!" he could not help exclaiming.

"Yes, Stanford!" repeated C.W.

"You go to Stanford, Ms.?" Fitzwilliam affected to have forgotten her name as he looked over at Liz.

"Miss Bennet," Liz lifted her head, and stared straight across at him. "Liz Bennet. Yes, I'm at Stanford."

He knew she was intelligent. They had talked about her classes and her coursework, but he realized how much he had undervalued her. He had even thought she might just be going to a community college, and yet she was at Stanford: with those high yearly tuition fees. Her focus on school work and her concern about making money to pay for college had more meaning and context now.

"That's not so surprising," said C.W., who leaned forward with an elbow on the table, "but when I asked her what she studied, you will never guess."

C.W. leaned back and threw his hands up in the air and his question out to the table.

"International Relations?" guessed Alex.

"Animal husbandry?" suggested Margaret. "Does Stanford even have that?"

Raj said, "it must be something unexpected, so Drama?"

"English," said Fitzwilliam staring blatantly at Liz.

"Exactly!" cried C.W. "How did you know that?"

"There is something wordy about her." He used it as an excuse to truly examine Liz Bennet, his Liz. They all seemed to be staring at her then as if determining what 'wordy' looked like. Rather than squirming she appeared to be glaring back at everyone in turn.

"I don't quite know what to do with her. She keeps tagging along when Charlotte, ah! Ms. Lucas comes out to lunch." C.W. smiled over at Charlotte who smiled back. "We have these regular Friday lunch excursions. So I let her. I keep offering to find Liz a job, but she assures me she is not done studying so there we have it. But Mason or Margaret or Raj, if you need an English major, I am sure she is the best."

Their meal arrived and Mason took the opportunity to pretend he had a text and pulled out his phone. He typed in her number.

 _What are you doing with CW Collins & why did you disappear_? He hit send.

Jazz music began playing at the table. Liz looked around apologetically. "Sorry it's my phone. I have a funny text notification, it's my sister who did it," she pulled her phone out. "I should have silenced it." She had had a smile on her face, that sort of amusement when one is caught in a slightly embarrassing scenario, but then she frowned when she looked at her phone. "Not important," she said. "I will return it later."

He had hoped for some response, to rattle her out of this complacency, this dullness, as this creature at the lunch table was not the Liz that he knew. Apparently, she was not going to answer him. He felt his anger rising again at her leaving him without a word.

He realized that Margaret was speaking to him and it took Fitz a moment to process the words. She had said, "Lauren tells me you are quite involved in that technology group where you two met."

"Yes," Fitzwilliam replied. "I have been very involved these last two years since the company has been stable. It has given me a chance to be committed to that group, and to see what others are doing. I have enjoyed my luncheon discussions with Lauren." He turned from Margaret to Liz to see if she was paying attention. Then he was sorry that he had. Because the pained look in her eyes had grown.

Liz threw her napkin on the table. "You'll excuse me if I run to the bathroom." There was no response from anyone at the table as most everyone was eating. She walked off.

His phone chirped; he realized he had not silenced his own. He looked down to see a text in response to his own.

 _You are a liar a cheat a bastard thats why I left_

 _After today I dont want to see your face again & only with CW for Charlottes sake_

He texted back: _How can you say that about me? I am a good man_

Fitz was confused as to why she would say he lied to her and cheated on her.

 _No, you're not_ Was her response.

 _Can we meet after lunch, so you can explain?_ He asked then added: _So I can explain?_

 _No_ Was her reply _You've hurt too many people, stay away_

He was even more confused by her response. He tried and failed to think of an argument he could text back to persuade her to meet with him to talk. What had he done that she thought he lied and cheated to make her want to disappear. Happy to be with him one day and abhorred by her the next?

 _I know your past made you wary_

 _But don't shut me out, please talk to me_ He texted.

 _You're not worth it, talk to your new girlfriend Lauren_

 _Or are you dating Alex too? You bastard_

He was sorry he had tried to use jealousy to get some response from her. Sorry that it obviously hurt her. Sorry he had brought his admin out to lunch.

"We seem to be missing Liz," said C.W. "Char…Ms. Lucas want to go check on her?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Collins," answered Charlotte Lucas who got up from the table.

Fitz kept trying to take bites of food in between sending texts to Liz who apparently sat in the restaurant's bathroom. He glanced over and saw Alex had a smile he did not appreciate as her eyes traveled down to the phone on his lap. He grabbed it and shoved it in his pocket. It would vibrate if Liz responded further.

He tried to not be too anxious, waiting for Liz and Charlotte to return to the table. He sat there pushing his food around the plate as he had lost all interest in eating. He answered a question from Raj and Margaret in turn about his business and waited and waited. It seemed a very long time for women to return from the bathroom. Eventually, Charlotte came back.

"I'm afraid," Ms. Lucas explained standing behind her chair. "Liz is not feeling well. The shrimp cocktail she had as an appetizer is not sitting well with her. Do you mind if we take off now?"

"Oh no!" cried C.W. with concern. "I'm sure that we can get our poor Liz home. I drove, you know," he patted himself on the chest. "We can't have her being sick here. I'll just settle with the restaurant. You four finish up. But we'll have to do this again sometime."

"Do you need somebody to drive her home," offered Fitz, "so you can stay?"

"Oh no," said C.W., "I'm sure it is out of your way. In fact, I know it is. But Raj…" C.W. turned to look at Raj the chemist. "It is actually…Liz' house is on the way back to your office! Can I coerce you to taking them home?"

Raj said that he would be delighted. Fitz thought about how disastrous this luncheon had been as he watched Charlotte gather her things then looked to ensure that Liz had not left anything behind besides the coat and purse on the back of the chair. She waved an awkward hand goodbye, thanking everyone though she turned cold eyes on him. Fitzwilliam knew exactly why Liz was going home and claiming to be ill. Ms. Lucas left with Raj in tow.

"I'm glad that you two showed up because I hate to waste this luncheon. I would have been sad to have Liz and Charlotte and Raj walk away. But there are still four of us, which is decent. We have Margaret and Mason, and the lovely Alex," cooed C.W. "So Alex, how long have you been Mason's assistant?" C.W. used the entire rest of the luncheon to ask question after question of Alex who obviously felt flattered with all that attention from a millionaire.

Alex asked as soon as they were in the car. "So was that _your_ Liz Bennet?"

"Yes," he answered, "and that is the only time I will talk about it and that is the only question you get to ask." He could feel the conceit and the presumption emanating from his assistant. It was a new worry, as if he did not have enough worries and concerns right then. He worried about his assistant and what she would say about the luncheon. "I don't want you talking about this," he added.

"Oh no, I won't," she answered.

* * *

Fitz considered calling Liz but figured she would ignore that attempt to contact her. He attempted another to text to her, though, as soon as he closed his office door.

 _Lauren is not a girlfriend just a colleague_

He knew he was mincing words as in his own mind he had asked Lauren out on a lunch date with the intention that there be more than work between them, but he also knew it was a relationship that was not going any farther now.

He had logged onto his laptop and was just getting his head into his work when his phone beeped.

 _You are a liar_ She texted back.

 _I am not_ He replied

 _You told me you were Fitz, C.W. calls you Mason_ She sent back

 _Fitz is my given name, Mason is my middle_

 _You cheated_ Appeared next.

 _How can you say that, claim that?_ He asked. Fitz could still not fathom her claim that he had, somehow cheated on her.

 _I told you, Liz, it had been years_ He texted her.

 _Just how many women do you date at one time?_

 _Bastard_ Was her reply.

 _Can't you call me, let me explain?_

He waited a long time for another text from her, but no other was to come.

* * *

Charles came to see him, mid-afternoon. Uncharacteristically he knocked, poked his head in and shut the door.

"Hey, Mason. Sam told me that you ran into your ex-girlfriend and you made her run away crying into the bathroom."

Fitzwilliam had to shut his eyes tight until he saw stars before he opened them and stared at his friend as he tried to process everything that Charles had said. "First off. Who is Sam?" asked Fitz.

"My girlfriend," replied Charles. "She works in HR."

"Woah! Sit down," barked Fitz. Charles pulled up a chair. "I thought I mentioned the first week you were here that dating somebody at work was sort of off-limits."

"Oh! I thought it was just you, like the leader, who couldn't date anybody in the company," said Charles.

"You mean Samantha, _in Human Resources_?" clarified Fitzwilliam.

"Yeah, she's…sweet," grinned Charles.

"Human Resources!" cried Fitzwilliam in exasperation. "She should _know_ better!" He leaned back in his chair which screeched again. He had this thought that he either needed a new chair, or he needed some sort of oil for it. "Charles you can't date women at work. You're like, executive level. It's a no no."

"A no no? That sounds like something my nanny told me not to do. Touching a hot stove is a no no," said Charles in a falsetto voice.

"Okay, besides the issue of your dating someone at work—and you should not be dating someone at work—what did this girlfriend tell you?"

"She said you ran into your ex-girlfriend at lunch, you made her run crying into the bathroom, and there was a big scene," said Charles. "So want to talk about it?"

There was a long silence as Fitzwilliam stared at his friend and thought about what had really happened and what was being reported.

"Not quite what went on, but as I have not said a word about it to anyone, and as Alex went with me it is obvious where this tale has come from. I asked her not to say anything," said Fitzwilliam at last.

"So no big scene and no tears?" asked Charles, still concerned.

"Okay, she might have been crying, I don't know. Liz did excuse herself from the table and go to the bathroom. I didn't see her after that." He sat back up to lean on the desk; the chair screeched again. "Charles, I don't know if you were coming here because you wanted to give me some friendly advice, or are just being your usual supportive self, but I have to think about what to do about my admin speaking out of turn. Will you excuse me while I talk to HR?"

"Are you going to talk about me too?" Charles Bingley looked like a sad puppy.

"I have to mention you too, Charles. And I am afraid you will probably have to break up with your girlfriend if you are to remain a Pemberley employee."

"Not too wicked of a request," said Charles. "I've enjoyed her company, but I'd rather be employed."

"Let me call HR," said Fitz with a small smile.

He called Mrs. P. and said he needed to talk to her right away. She said she had wanted to take off early since it was Friday afternoon. He insisted it was urgent and could not wait. She offered to swing by his office, but he said he would come to her.

"Oh, little pitchers have big ears. I get it. I will wait," answered Mrs. P.

He explained to her what had happened with Charles coming by, being a concerned friend and colleague. "The only way that Charles could have heard this and therefore Samantha could have heard about this was because Alex told Samantha. I had given her express instructions not to talk. I feel like my personal life is not up for discussion."

Mrs. P. countered, "I thought we had a discussion about you not blending the rules with your admin, Mason, and _why_ were you taking her out to lunch?"

"I didn't think that sharing a meal, at lunchtime, was going to give the wrong impression. We were both leaving at the same time and it just seemed the friendly thing to do," he replied. "I'm sorry that I broke the rules. It has been a day of broken rules."

"Having your admin gossip about you is not necessarily a fire-able offense. However, I will talk to her," said the HR director. "On the other hand, apparently I need to talk to _my own_ employee about the rules. It _is_ against the rules to blur the lines between management and employee by dating. Samantha should _not_ be seeing Mr. Bingley outside of work. You have set me a lot to do when I thought I was to get some shopping done before the weekend."

"I'm sorry to keep you. But I appreciate your looking into these issues," answered Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy.


	27. One For My Baby

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"One For My Baby (And One More For the Road)"

 _It's quarter to three, there's no one in the place except you and me  
So, set 'em up, Joe, I got a little story you oughta know  
We're drinkin', my friend, to the end of a brief episode  
Make it one for my baby and one more for the road_

* * *

A/N: this is going up early as I am headed up to help at an evacuation center because of the California fires. I am not sure when I will be back so not sure that the Friday update will occur as planned.

* * *

Fitzwilliam's office phone rang, and it rarely rang. It displayed the name: Robert Richardson. Fitz thought _I have never talked to you on the office phone_ , but he picked it up.

"Hey, it's your cousin, just seeing if you're there and giving you a heads up I'm coming by."

"I don't want to talk to you," Fitz told the receiver.

"Don't you dare leave," said Bob and hung up.

Fitzwilliam considered locking his office door but knew that would not deter his cousin.

"Interesting rumors flying around about you dear cousin," said Bob as he walked in the office and shut the door.

"I _do not_ want to speak to you, and I fall back on my assertion that I'll call security if I don't like where this is going," growled Fitz.

"Apparently, you ran into Liz today at lunch," said Bob who tapped the back of a chair before he walked in front to sit.

"That's it!" said Fitzwilliam, gesturing. "I don't want to talk about her, out!"

"How did you happen to run into her?"

Fitz glared at Bob who did not move. They stared at each other. "She has a new boyfriend, apparently. C.W. Collins," Fitzwilliam finally answered. "I suspect she threw me over for him."

"Eww, really? I always kind of liked her," said Bob.

"You never met her," said Fitz.

"I don't know. She seemed to have a certain _elan_ about her."

"Where did you get that word? What, can't you use 'style' like the rest of us?" grumbled Fitz.

"I don't know," said Bob who slumped sideways in his chair and leaned on one elbow. "You know you're the closest thing to a brother I've ever had. I love you despite all of the stupid things you've done, though you've done some clever things too. And I want you to be happy, and boy, did she make you happy. So I liked Liz. I was really rooting for you."

"She texted me from the bathroom that she left me because I was a liar and a cheat."

"Wow!" said Bob. "That's pretty heavy. You don't know what you did?"

"No," Fitz slumped in his chair like Bob.

"You know you have to shoulder half the blame," said Bob.

"I've done nothing wrong. I don't know why you insist."

"Maybe you didn't ask enough questions. Maybe you made the wrong assumptions about her. Maybe you didn't treat her well enough from the beginning that she didn't blossom under your attentions," asserted Bob.

"What, is she a flower I'm supposed to water?" snarled Fitz.

"All women are flowers you're supposed to water. Didn't you get _that_ memo in school?" scoffed Bob.

"Actually," said Fitz in a softer voice. "I found out today that she's been studying at Stanford."

"Stanford! Wow! A smart one and you let her get away?"

"I told you _she disappeared._ "

"I would have driven to her house and camped out on the doorstep until she agreed to see me. What did you do, did you just let her go? Ego couldn't take being dumped?" accused Bob.

"What else was I supposed to do? I sent her a letter," growled Fitzwilliam.

"A letter, like in the mail? A letter?" Bob sat up to look at his cousin.

"Yes. I told her she needed to tell me why she left," began Fitz.

"Did you tell her you loved and adored her? Worshiped her, missed her? Regretted every minute she was gone? Begged her to come back?" asked Bob.

"No," answered Fitzwilliam Darcy.

"You just asked her why she left?" clarified Bob.

"Demanded is more like it," admitted Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy.

"And you thought she would answer it?" Bob sat up very straight to stare with a furled brow at Fitz.

Fitzwilliam recalled a vision of their Grandfather Darcy suddenly as he looked at his cousin.

"Don't you know how all of this is supposed to work?" continued Bob. "Another day you missed at school? Another memo missed. I'm ashamed of you, you don't _deserve_ women. Stanford! Really! A smart one. How did you never wheedle _that_ out of her when you two were dating?"

"I don't know. She seemed skittish so I didn't ask," explained Fitz yet again.

"You're clever; you could've figured things out. You should've just asked outright!" Bob slapped the corner of his cousin's desk.

"Well it was just the morning for a while and that was okay. Then we added dinners and I just kept…"

"Did you ever send her flowers, or little texts saying _I am thinking of you_?" interrupted Bob.

"No," answered Darcy.

"You did no wooing huh? No romancing. You just assumed she would be there on the other end, whenever you were ready for her?"

"I did say I wanted more time!" cried Fitz.

"You told _me_ you wanted more time from her, but did you tell _her_ that you wanted more time from her?"

"I don't know. I don't remember," answered Fitz, confused now.

"I can just see you. You probably just sat there and fumed and assumed that she knew what you wanted. That Liz knew that you wanted more time from her and how that looked! But you never asked did you? You just resented that she could not make time for you to fit _your needs_. How many women have had the same complaint about you? You were so wrapped up in work, they had two dates with you and would give up, say forget this! Not worth my time or investment and walk on."

"Do you have anything decent to say about me or can I call security and have you thrown out?" grumbled Fitzwilliam.

"I think security answers to _me_ , technically. If you look at our organization chart, I believe they fall on my branch of it," said Bob. "Just trying to point out that your argument that you did nothing wrong has holes. There may be some reason we cannot perceive for her having walked away and throwing all that stuff in your face, saying you cheated and lied to her, but did you treat her well while you had her? Maybe she did not trust you enough so that whatever spooked her, the first thing she did was not pick up the phone and call you. Instead she ran the other way."

There was silence again between them.

"I have a date with Carmen tonight and a date with Lenore tomorrow night," Fitzwilliam threw out.

"You are so screwed," said Bob, who stood up. "I am not bothering to give you any advice. You got yourself into this, you can get yourself out. Enjoy your _evenings_."

Fitz considered that he did not want to go out with Carmen that night. He thought his interest in the saleswoman had entirely blown over. He wondered how to disentangle himself from the relationship, or whatever it was that they had. He could not explain himself, but could not immediately find a reason to cancel at the last minute.

As soon as he got home, and got up enough courage, he called Carmen and explained he had to cancel on her because he had to babysit his housekeeper's five year old son. It was such a lame excuse that she had to see it for the 'I don't want to see you,' excuse that it was.

"Your housekeeper's son?" she had replied with obvious scorn.

"Yes," he continued the lie. "She just had a baby and her husband is traveling, and she needs a little extra help. She's been very supportive to me, so I want to help her out. She's more like family than an employee." _That_ he did mean.

"Alright," she said. "I'll see you later. Bye, Mason."

* * *

He went through a range of emotions that night and getting very little sleep, experiencing confusion, regret, some sadness, a lot of anger, and even disappointment. He tried to make sense, again, of why Liz had disappeared with this new piece of information that she thought he had cheated on her, and lied to her, and with Bob throwing in that he might not have treated her the way a woman should be treated. Had he been too needy, too pushy? He considered that for a while. He knew it had been like removing a hatch and releasing a flow of water, that experience of feelings with Liz.

He had instantly liked Liz the day he had met her. There had been something about her—what makes another person attractive? What inspires you or enthralls you about another? Can you truly say how attraction works, put it into concrete terms? What had inspired him to decide to go running at six a.m. to go searching for her those first mornings? Had he been too overbearing, assured in his interest in her, and scared her so that whatever had spooked her had been some final straw? But apparently interest was not enough. His actions had been lacking even if he was confused as to how.

In the middle part of the night, he ended up where he always ended up, angry with Liz for creating the situation and for making him relive his feelings of abandonment with his father— _those_ issues. He thought _I am really done with you this time._

* * *

Aunt Kate woke him up. He was hard pressed to get her off the phone without assurances that he was following her plan, but a difficult night's sleep and his encounter with Liz had left him more confused. He had often imagined running into Liz—what that would look like—and being able to clarify the issues between them, but the reality had been like nothing he had ever considered.

He explained to his aunt he was dating three different women, and when pressed if they were _worthy_ women (worthy in her eyes), he said that they were. He did not explain that he had most likely broken up with Carmen the night before. He also had decided he liked Lauren too much to hurt her. He knew he only _just_ liked her. Liked discussing business with her, liked discussing other topics with her, but beyond having lunch with her once a week, he could not perceive things progressing further.

Ultimately, Fitzwilliam was just angrier and resentful. He brooded that Saturday morning; he only managed to feed the dogs. Then he went to sit with a cup of coffee to think. His thoughts were dark, just like his coffee.

Jack came and sat down next to him, but in his current state of mind he had no time for his dog or for Cherie who, after scarfing down her food had sat down next to him as if to say 'what's up.' But Fitz barked at her so she left him. She went outside. He suspected that Cherie now spent most of her time in the back with the Reynolds which was probably unfair since Yvonne had her hands full with that new baby and would not appreciate an extra dog. But just then he did not care: he hated that dog anyway.

What Fitz did not know was how he really felt about Lenore. Lenore Hearst had sent him a text confirming their date for that evening while he had been talking to his Aunt Kate. He looked at it for a while wondering if he should get out of the date—did he want to get out of it? But he came to the conclusion that he was not ready to part with Lenore just yet.

They were supposed to meet at a restaurant at seven. Lenore texted him at five to say she was having things sent in. _Ordering in, come to my house, we'll eat here_

He thought then that she was taking no chances as to the events of the evening. Fitz felt as if she was closing a deal, maneuvering their evening events just like a business deal so everything went the way she wished. It was a chess game, and Lenore could imagine all the moves out infinitum. He thought about his promise to 'stay' after dinner. After all, that was why he was going. Having known her for only four days had been his argument against sleeping with her a week ago. But he had promised to stay the last time they had parted. She had solicited that assurance from him, "dessert after dinner on Saturday night" when they had last spoken on the phone.

He thought more about a relationship with Lenore. He could not claim that they had one, despite the long day in the car, their trip to Hearst Castle and back. He recalled the idea that relationships need time to develop. You need time to share about yourself and to contemplate this other person. But he was still interested (not like his interest in Carmen which was certainly dead in the water), though it was still just a budding generic interest.

She was beautiful; she was successful, and Aunt Kate would certainly approve of her. Lenore Hearst fit all the criteria he had set himself to consider for a companion in his life. He did not cancel on Lenore.

Fitzwilliam underestimated her. She was the type of woman who liked to have her dessert first. They had sex on her couch not long after he had walked in the door of her house, an awkward, quick, and heated exchange. She claimed she was baby-proof and nothing else was needed, but he told her there were other reasons to be using condoms and insisted. She had shrugged, said she had none. He had, at least, come prepared.

Lenore invited him to shower with her afterward. He declined. She said she had a spare robe, a _man's_ robe, and he need not dress as she slipped into a slinky silk creation, but he put his clothes on anyway. Then they sat and ate.

She had an Italian dinner ready for him. A cold antipasto laid out for him to nibble on while she got the main dishes out of her warming oven. It was a delicious meal. Oddly, she suggested they watch a movie (a romantic comedy) though he was not certain what he was expecting they do after dinner. Lenore came to snuggle with him on her couch. He wondered if she was anticipating a second round. The longer they sat on the couch the more he got the idea that—should he be interested—that was definitely on offer.

But the meal, the wine, and the fact that he had not slept much the night before, and with a movie before him that he was not particularly interested in, made Fitz fall asleep. Hands woke him up, but he felt by that hour of the evening he had fulfilled his promise to her, and he took himself back to his own house and bed to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, with his cup of coffee in-hand, he thought about his evening. "I looked you up," Lenore had said to him when they were at Hearst Castle. He had not considered doing the reverse before, but he did so that morning. She was older than he had guessed, thirty-six, and like C.W.W. Collins, was a bit of a golden child in her business niche. She had managed to find a space, find angel funding, and had created a little empire. Her company looked to be worth between twelve and fifteen million which was decent if it was all hers and with only a handful of employees.

Fitz thought about their encounter on her couch, so fleeting and intense that some clothes had still remained on, and he wondered if Lenore Hearst had decided that she wanted a merger of a different kind—and not really with Pemberley Energy and its net worth of forty-five million. He thought she might want a baby and would be the type of woman perfectly willing to trick a man into being a father.

She had mentioned how she was an only child, the apple of her (still living) parents' eyes. Everything in life had gone right for her. Perhaps this was one thing she wanted to do which was not going as planned, or which Lenore Hearst thought she could engineer, the way she engineered software. Fitz was not sure why he had that instinct about her, but thought he was spot on.

He now had the issue of disentangling himself from Lenore and the 'babysitting his housekeeper's son' excuse would not work. He had said he would call her when he had left her house and walked, bleary-eyed, to his car to drive home the evening before.

Then, though he had hesitated doing so before, Fitzwilliam tried to Google 'Elizabeth Bennet,' and found nothing of interest that fit his Liz. He hated that Alex was correct in this instance. 'Liz Bennet' was a disastrous search as there was so many that it was like his cousin's complaint; nothing to distinguish one Liz Bennet from hundreds of others. But he then added 'Stanford' to his search and found what he thought was his Liz. A recognition from the previous fall for a being part of a poetry program on immigration and diversity.

He could not help but weigh the two women; could not help but compare his feelings for them, and Fitzwilliam realized he had none, nothing really to speak of or consider for Lenore. He still was crazy about Liz Bennet. What had he done going to see Lenore last evening and how was he to untangle himself now?

Bob had warned him that these women he was currently seeing—he _was_ on the rebound, Fitz admitted that to himself now—were all going to end up hating him. Bob had also said he, Bob Richardson, did not play with women's hearts. But apparently Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy _was_ a bastard as Liz had asserted, and did. Was he so arrogant that he did not care about women's feelings in this hunt for the perfect companion?

Finishing his coffee, he then showered and dressed. He decided to go out to eat as he still had nothing decent in the house for breakfast. Sunday brunch was not the time to be out as everyone else was doing the same thing, but apparently everyone else in the area went out to eat with someone else. Grandparents took their grandkids. Parents got their kids out of the house. Young couples went on dates—and he wondered if that was a post spending-the-night sort of date, as he eyed a couple holding hands across a table.

He was sitting with old gray-haired men at a counter where all the single people, the single men sat. Only men sat there, no women went to eat alone on Sunday mornings. _They_ would remember to shop for food and could eat at home. The gray-haired men read newspapers, actual print newspapers, or flirted with the aging waitress behind the counter. Fitz sat and fiddled with his phone and considered how to break it off with Lenore, and with Lauren.

Fitzwilliam Darcy ran a company; he had fired people. He had dealt with difficult situations before. He could tell Lenore that he was not interested in seeing her any longer. He assumed it would not make her happy and that they would likely not speak after such a conversation. With Lauren, it was a different matter, as he knew he liked her but that was a growing sense of friendship, not love. Fitz wanted to be able to keep Lauren as a friend and contact, but he was not certain if he could do that. Had her colleague, Margaret, said anything to her about that disastrous Friday luncheon? The tension with Liz had to have been obvious.

He headed home feeling more outcast and crippled after his foray out into the world, after witnessing all the people out grouped together, but feeling more determined that he had to break off things with Lenore. Fitz thought about everything that had happened in the last month. He thought about how much he had been charmed by Liz, how crazy he had been for her.

He acknowledged what a blow it had been to hear that she wanted him to go away, that she never wanted to see him again, and without explanation. Nobody wants to hear that. Nobody wishes to be told that in some way they do not measure up; they are inadequate. They are not lovable; they are not worthy.

As hurt and as angry as he was, he realized, in some ways, he could not untangle his feelings of being not worthy in his father's eyes with Liz' abrupt disappearance. He was not quite home, but had to pull over on a deserted Atherton street. It hurt; it was wounding. He sat in sorrow. He had not been bereaved about the loss of his father; he had not ever truly mourned his father.

There had been that moment in the middle of his father's funeral when he had become angry, and Fitz had stayed angry with his father for seven years. But he had never been sad, never allowed himself to truly _grieve_. His father was gone; sorrow and regret were a necessary step.

Fitzwilliam sat in his car as tears came and he realized: _my dad is dead._ He mourned his dad, mourned his passing, regretted the loss of a father without all the other issues which he had allowed to blind and complicate that fact that _his father was gone_. Once his tears and his sadness and the heartache had passed, he made his way home.

Fitz realized his motivations this past month had been questionable, going to all of those technology and entrepreneurial events, seeking companionship yet following the deformed advice of his Aunt Katherine. He puttered around with bare feet on hardwood floors; walked around a rather large, and currently lonely house, pacing. He considered the entirety of not just the past month, but the past seven years and what his father's death, on top of losing his mother, had meant. He thought about his own choices and his response to those events, and what they meant.

He had learned to be a one-man show. A man who dictated to others, made assumptions that people knew what needed to be done and would do it: as at work. A man who tried his best with his sister but assumed she was still struggling just as he was struggling with the subject of their parent's deaths. He had not realized how much help his housekeeper, Yvonne, had provided. He thought about her insight into exactly how well Georgia had turned out, how well Georgie actually was coping—far better—Fitz thought, than he.

Maybe he had not been able to be there, emotionally, for his sister so Yvonne had needed to fulfill that role? Perhaps he did not known how to be available, emotionally, for others and that had been his flaw in the relationship with Liz. She had said she had a difficult past relationship, so he had not asked questions, not delved more…the unanswered questions had been such a gaping hole between them because, actually, he had not wanted to know; he had not wanted to really get close.

Fitzwilliam decided it was time to start asking questions, so he called his sister. She answered.

"Mason!" cried Georgie.

"Did you know that my given name was Fitzwilliam?" he asked right away.

"I guess I sort of did," she said. "Kind of a funny name, isn't it. I don't quite know what Mom and Dad were thinking," she answered.

"It was Dad's way of naming me after himself," he said to her.

"Oh! William…Fitzwilliam. I guess I never thought of it that way," she said.

"I sort of had a question for you," he continued.

"Not more gift-giving is it?"

"No," he said. "Did you ever resent Dad taking his own life and leaving us behind?"

"That's heavy," she replied. "Resent…maybe not _resent_. I mean, I miss them, and I am sad he's gone. Really sad Mom is gone. It must be a daughter thing that daughters miss mothers in particular. It was hard. It has to be hard on any kid to lose their parent." She was silent for a breath or two. "Particularly hard when you are little, and I was little when they left, but now. I don't know."

"Don't know?" he prompted

"I don't know that I ever resented Dad. I just didn't understand; I still don't understand, but I've gotten on with life."

"Wow," he breathed

She was getting philosophical. "It's been tough, tougher than it would have been if one or both of them had been here. I think I've a hard time with relationships, and I've not had many close friends which is why I love Katy and Allison." She groaned in his ear, and he had to hold the phone away. "And my first year of college was a disaster, but I kind of…I am okay."

"That's good," he nodded.

"Why?" she suddenly asked, "is that what you wanted to hear?"

"There wasn't any particular answer I wanted to hear; I just wanted to hear what you had to say," he explained.

"So how about you?" she asked.

"I haven't forgiven Dad for leaving us," he said honestly.

"That is just an additional burden on top of all the other ones you've had to bear, Mason."

"I know," he said. "I wonder that it has taken me this long to figure that out. I'm trying to figure out how to be William Darcy's son in a way that is fitting for _me_ and not in the way he envisioned it," he took in a deep breath," I'm trying not to be reactionary anymore, because he left us, because he could not live without Mom. Figuring out who I'm supposed to be for my own reasons and not those based on all the other people who have ideas about who I'm supposed to be: Aunt Ellen or Aunt Kate or Bob or our stockholders."

"No girlfriend yet, huh?" Georgie always had a way of changing the subject unexpectedly.

"Oh my gosh, Georgie. I fell in love and that was a disaster."

"What! When did this happen?" he had to hold the phone away from his ear again.

"Yeah, not so long ago." He could not help the sorrow and the agitation in his voice. "I'll admit now that I was in love but it didn't work out. She was so wonderful. I can't figure out what I did wrong; I sort of think my past messed it up. It might have been the sin of omission. It wasn't that I necessarily did anything wrong, but I didn't do the right thing in the relationship, and she moved on."

"I'm sorry Mason. I know what a grievous thing it is when love affairs turn sour. Heck! I moved schools and states to get away from you-know-who G.W. so I wouldn't have to run into him on campus. If you consider the big picture that was a really stupid thing to do. But on the other hand I didn't have friends last year, but I do have friends this year. And Texas is such a better fit despite Aunt Katherine telling me what an idiot I am for moving."

"Don't you listen to her, ever!" he said. But then he thought about being such a yes man on the phone that morning and wondered what he was doing, agreeing to her schemes. "You are where you need to be, G."

"Hey, that rhymes!" Fitzwilliam could hear her smile on the phone. "So…we were sort of going to go swimming."

"Aren't you supposed to be studying for finals? Aren't finals week next week?" he scolded.

"Yeah, but I kind of needed a break. It's hot and humid and are you done being all weepy and heavy-topicy and can I go swimming now _please_ , big brother or do you need me to hold your hand some more?"

"You go swimming. I'll be fine," he agreed and signed off.

* * *

It was Monday before he had worked out the details about speaking to Lenore. He called her from work. He did not want to leave her harboring any belief that he wished to see her again. It sounded cruel when he thought about it, but _not_ calling her left open the possibility that he was only busy. So many people did that in relationships, ended it by not picking up the phone, both men and women, when things went sour you simply did not call any longer.

He also did not want to hurt her if he could, but he thought about what Bob had warned: you will end up hurting them. To tell someone you don't want to see them if they were expecting more is hurtful. He considered that for a while. He thought about his own expectations with Liz. Maybe he had expected more than she had been able to give him, and he thought perhaps it had not worked out between them because of that.

Lenore answered the phone right away which he took as a bad sign: she had been expecting his call. He explained that he had been thinking about her; he had been thinking about the two of them.

"Oh yes!" she seemed eager and happy in her response.

"But I think it's not going to work out between us, Lenore," he went straight to his point.

"Oh!" he could hear the disappointment and surprise. "I thought we were quite compatible," she said.

"I'm getting over another relationship. I fear I started under false pretenses. I'm not looking for another," he explained.

"I am just good for the sex," she offered. He thought his fears about her true intentions were confirmed then.

"I am not," he answered. "I don't think it will work out between us." He waited for her to say anything else, but she seemed as if she had nothing else to come back to him with.

"Okay then," she finally said. "I guess this is a farewell phone call then?"

"Yes," he was firm. "Goodbye. Thank you for dinner."

"Okay, Mason," she dismissed him and hung up.

* * *

By Tuesday it was obvious at work that the chatter about the boss and that luncheon was still circulating. There were additional rumors about him and a host of different women, including multiple women at one time while he had been in Vegas. Apparently Jackson Carter, who was the only Pemberley employee who had gone to that energy conference, had some interesting theories about why the boss had been seen so little on the conference floor.

Fitzwilliam went to speak to Mrs. P. who said there was not much she could do to squelch rumors. It was one of the most difficult weeks Fitz had at work since the time half of his employees quit after the failed takeover bid almost seven years before. He also had one more phone call to make. He called Lauren Leigh.

It was a conversation that was both the same and different than the one with Lenore. He could express to Lauren how much he had enjoyed their discussions and her company at lunch, but as he had explained to Lenore, he also explained to Lauren: he was getting over a relationship and did not wish to date. He did ask if they could remain on friendly, business friendly, terms. She seemed disappointed; he could tell she was, even though they were talking on the phone. But she also was more magnanimous, and agreed.


	28. Some Other Spring

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Some Other Spring"

 _Some other Spring  
_ _When twilight falls  
_ _Will the night bring  
_ _Another to me_

 _Not your kind  
_ _But let me find  
_ _It's not true that love is blind  
_ _Sunshine's around me  
_ _But deep in my heart  
_ _It's cold as ice  
_ _Love, once you've found me  
_ _But can that story unfold twice_

A/N: this is the Friday luncheon, take two.

* * *

Liz had yet to find a reason to persuade either Charlotte or C.W. to let her stay home on Fridays. Liz insisted her classes were snowballing, yet _they_ both insisted she needed to eat, and it was only an hour or two. She began to think it was a sort of penance she had to pay for being involved with a married man.

She often sat, while at those luncheons, with her phone in her lap typing notes to herself as ideas about her coursework came to her, and not paying attention to the nearby conversation. There were often others in attendance, but C.W. always insisted she sit next to him, and the newcomers never seemed to speak to Liz.

Her host was also one to call out to people wherever they were, so that Friday, when she heard him calling to someone then pushing his chair back to greet that person, Liz had not looked up.

C.W. had then whispered, "I must have him to lunch," so then she did look up, and her legs froze in position on her chair though her gut inside turned over as she watched Fitz approach the table with a young woman beside him. _Fitz_ was staring at her; she could feel his eyes on her in an almost physical way, but she did not turn her gaze. Fitz finally turned his eyes from her to C.W.

"How are you?" asked Fitz of their host.

C.W. was his usual congenial self, all peacock in his reply then asked. "Who do you have with you today, Mason?"

Fitz introduced the woman with him, but Liz could only latch onto the fact that C.W. called him _Mason_. Apparently he had given her a false name. Liz had never considered that in the weeks, since their break-up, that he had lied about his name. But a man cheating on his wife could do anything, including use a false name. She felt like those healing wounds were ripped open anew.

C.W. was introducing people at the table, but Liz could not even nod when he said her name. The woman scientist inserted herself then as if she felt cheated to not be introduced first, and C.W. ended his introductions with the male scientist before he then asked Fitz and his companion to join them. Liz' stomach continued its painful cramping, releasing, and snarling, and she hoped Fitz—or rather _Mason_ —would decline.

"You look like you already have a full table," said Fitz. Liz hoped he would take that woman next to him, who looked so possessive of him, and go. He did not look at her in considering whether to stay, but over at the female scientist. Liz wondered if he knew her as well? Was he in pharmaceutics? "We'll join you. Sure you have room?"

"Plenty," C.W. responded, and there was movement as they all had to move their chairs a little. Liz was happy Fitz and his female friend, Alex?, did not sit near her, but C.W. seemed to have his roving eye out for the new woman, blond, petite, and attractive—a tidy package. C.W. insisted she sit with him. Perhaps Liz could go back to her phone and get through the lunch. After all, they had already ordered.

C.W. liked to talk so he could easily fill in any gaps if the conversation lagged. He put questions to Fitz-Mason as she was currently thinking of her ex as C.W. explained the reasons for their luncheon that Friday. But Liz found herself unexpectedly addressed, and not by Fitz-Mason, but by his friend, Alex. Apparently they worked together. Liz wondered if there was more to their relationship. She looked possessive of him.

"So…Liz," the woman addressed her. "Are you studying biology, like Ms. Lucas there?"

"No," answered Liz. She did not feel like joining the conversation so went back to staring down at her phone. Apparently she was not going to be allowed to ignore the conversation as C.W. tapped her on the shoulder to bring her back into the discussion.

"Mr. Collins, you were telling us about the _black sheep_?" said Fitz' companion. Really, she would forever think of him as Fitz. She looked blatantly at him. He did not look like a Mason.

"Oh yes," said C.W. "So Liz here, I met at a party at my house. She came with her roommate, who happens to be Ms. Lucas, and some other fellows I did not meet."

"They were my _other_ roommates," Liz felt that she needed to correct C.W. lest he or anyone else think they were her and Charlotte's dates.

"Oh really, didn't know," said C.W. "So…I often host little parties, and I hook up people in business with people looking for jobs. And a lot of those people looking for jobs happen to be college students, like Ms. Lucas here."

"Oh, yes? I didn't know you did recruiting. I only knew about your business ventures," said the woman with false cheer.

"Recruiting!" C.W. was always going on about his 'recruiting efforts.' Liz thought he was flirting with this companion of Fitz'. "I never thought of it that way. I feel like I am a scout for a sports team. Recruiting!" Liz wondered if C.W. would manage to get this woman's phone number as her host told the tale of how they met. Would Fitz be upset if Alex dumped him for C.W.? It would serve him right.

She was brought to, however, when she heard Fitz cry out, "Stanford!"

"Yes, Stanford!" repeated C.W.

"You go to Stanford, Ms.?" Fitz was staring at her then with a surprised look, almost a deceived look, on his face.

"Miss Bennet," Liz lifted her head, her chin, and stared back at him. "Liz Bennet. Yes, I'm at Stanford."

"That was not so surprising," said her host, who then invited his other guests to guess what she was studying. Liz could not help looking to see if Fitz would choose to guess since he knew what her major was.

"International Relations?" said Fitz' companion.

"Animal husbandry?" suggested the pharmaceutical lady. "Does Stanford even have that?" Liz shook her head as she knew they did not.

Raj the male scientist said, "it must be something unexpected, so Drama?"

"English," Fitz said as he stared again at her. She still thought he looked deceived. Liz could not account for why he should think she deceived him about where she was going to school.

"Exactly!" said C.W. "How did you know that?"

"There is something wordy about her," Fitz stared even more at her as if accusing her of something, but she sat up a little more in her chair and stared back. His were not the only eyes on her, and she left his gaze to look at the others examining her.

C.W. began to weave a lie then about her tagging along with Charlotte. Liz felt her anger grow—at having to endure this luncheon, at being examined as if a prized object, but she felt that her anger would carry her through the meal which finally arrived, her appetizer plate having been whisked away.

Her phone began playing that jazz tune Mary had added as a ringtone for her texts. Liz smiled in embarrassment. "Sorry it's my phone. I have a funny ringer, it's my sister who did it," and she pulled her phone out. "I should have silenced it." She looked down to silence it when she saw it was a text from Fitz.

 _What are you doing with CW Collins & why did you disappear_?

The anger in his text was obvious and stoked hers even more. She had deleted his contact, but apparently he had not deleted hers. "Not important," she told everyone at the table. "I will return it later."

The pharma lady kept eyeing Fitz and leaning over to eye the woman Fitz had brought with him to the restaurant. Why had Liz not paid attention to the names when she arrived? The pharmaceutical lady prompted him, "Lauren tells me you are quite involved in that technology group where you two met."

"Yes," replied Fitz. "I have been very involved these last two years since the company has been stable. It has given me a chance to be involved in that group to see what others are doing. I have quite enjoyed my luncheon discussions with Lauren."

Liz' resolve melted. Apparently he was dating a friend of the pharma lady, had brought another woman with him to lunch today (Alex's possessiveness was obvious), and yet he had cheated on his wife with her. Just how many women did he date at one time? Had he dated someone else when he was seeing her?

A huge hand squeezed all of her guts painfully and Liz threw her napkin on the table. "You'll excuse me if I run to the bathroom." Everyone seemed to be intently eating and no one said anything.

She locked herself in a stall and angrily texted a reply to Fitz.

 _You are a liar a cheat a bastard thats why I left_

 _After today I dont want to see your face again & only with CW for Charlottes sake_

 _How can you say that about me? I am a good man_ He texted back.

There had been a few tears as she initially texted him, but they stopped as she looked at his response. Her anger rose at his audacity to claim he was a good man.

 _No, you're not_ Was her immediate reply.

 _Can we meet after lunch, so you can explain?_ He sent back. _So I can explain?_

She wondered that he was so insistent and could not leave her alone. Liz slammed a fist into the stall door in her frustration. The arrogance of him! He had replaced her with two others but what of his wife?

 _No_ Was her reply. _You've hurt too many people, stay away_

She unlocked the stall door and went to splash water on her face. She had hoped he would stop texting her and turned her phone face down on the counter, but it buzzed again.

 _I know your past made you wary_

 _But don't shut me out, please talk to me_

Was he really blaming her for all of this? Her fury rose even more as she stared at Mirror Liz. Mirror Liz had fire in her eyes, the anger blazed there. That was no good either.

She did not want to feel hurt all over again, aspects of doubt, anxiety, and self-loathing had been turning inside her since her eyes had glanced over and saw Fitz; neither did she want to be angry. She did not really think any feelings about Fitz-Mason were worth it. Mirror Liz suggested she tamper them down and lock them in a drawer. Liz took Mirror Liz' advice.

There was one deep breath then she even smiled at Mirror Liz before she picked up her phone and dashed off one more text.

 _You're not worth it, talk to your new girlfriend Lauren_

 _Or are you dating Alex too? You bastard_

Apparently she could remember _some_ names. She turned her phone off then so she would not have to see any more texts. And she turned away from the mirror lest she feel like smashing it when she lost her resolve not to keep all her feelings in a box.

Liz was certain that she would be missed, but she was also certain that she would not go back to that table. This was one of those high-end restaurants where the bathroom was not merely a set of stalls, but a 'rest room,' with an area which had a small two-seater couch, so she went to sit on the couch to wait out the luncheon, confident that Charlotte would collect her when it was over.

Her friend and roommate did show up soon enough. "What the hell is going on?" demanded Charlotte.

"That's Fitz out there, Charlotte! Fitz, my ex, Fitz!" explained Liz. "I am not going back to lunch to be poked and prodded and examined by the attendees. I have enough dignity to know when to fish or cut bait. Time for me to walk away."

"You can't, it's C.W." pleaded Charlotte.

"To hell with C.W. and your job hunting Charlotte," cried Liz. "I am not doing this _ever again_. I can be a supportive friend, but there has been nothing of benefit and really far more sorrow, more chaos for me to have that man ask me for a date at the end of our luncheon every Friday. Don't you dare ask me to do this again! I will no longer be anywhere near you, our house or C.W. Collins ever again on Fridays. Now if you could just fetch me my coat and purse I will walk home or take a taxi or figure something out."

"Liz, you…can't," began Charlotte Lucas, but Liz Bennet stared at her friend with a hardened face.

"I can also leave without my things and you can just bring them home to me," said Liz. "I am _done_. Stop trying to get me to sleep with C.W. to get you a job. Why don't you sleep with him yourself!"

"That's cruel," cried Charlotte. "How dare you suggest that I do that!"

"Isn't that what you've been urging me to do? Sleep with C.W. for you? Wasn't that why you suggested I not be in a hurry to break up with Fitz, even if he _was_ married, so he could pay my tuition? At what point are we prostituting ourselves Charlotte. How despicable do we become? Our choices and behavior? Our actions? When do we stop being judged for our own merits and the lines become blurred?"

"Stop!" shouted Charlotte who threw her hands up in front of her. "We obviously do not see eye-to-eye about how to go about job-hunting." She turned away from Liz. "I will go get your things and say you need to go home."

Charlotte was so chatty with Raj, who had been wrangled to drive them home, that Liz did not recognize her friend. She was usually quiet at their Friday luncheons. C.W. usually did the majority of the talking. The roommates parted ways and did not speak to each other, once home.

* * *

Liz was still feeling furious with Charlotte as she sat down at her desk and attempted to use schoolwork to distract herself. She picked up and put down the week's writing she had been working on which was related to her seminar on sympathy in literature (and relating to unlikeable characters). But she did not feel like finding any sympathy for anyone, Charlotte, Fitz, C.W. just then. Liz felt savage and selfish and wanted people to be sympathetic to _her_.

She thought working on her seminar on sexuality in literature might not be the best choice either, so she merely picked up a scrap piece of paper and attempted to write a few poems about her current feelings. Her professor might let her wheedle them into her final anthology somehow. Her phone text sounded.

 _Lauren is not a girlfriend just a colleague_

After grabbing her phone, Liz wondered why she had turned it back on in the car. She had had thoughts of calling Jane to discuss seeing Fitz again, but there was this jagged and edgy feeling inside her that had made Liz consider she was not yet ready to discuss the Fitz sighting with Jane. Fitz had sent two more pleading lines which she had deleted and which helped to motivate her to throw her phone back in her purse.

Liz could not help but shake her head as she stared at that line of text on her screen. That woman at lunch seemed to imply that this Lauren and Fitz were certainly more than colleagues. Even Fitz seemed to have hinted that he and this Lauren had more than a work relationship.

 _You are a liar_ She typed furiously back.

 _I am not_ Came back swiftly, and she was incensed then, having caught him up.

 _You told me you were Fitz, C.W. calls you Mason_ She sent back as quickly as she could, eager to respond to him for once.

 _Fitz is my given name, Mason is my middle_

That jagged, crampy feeling inside intensified. Liz did not want to credit him with any verity; he was to be completely at fault for their breakup, for breaking her heart. She ignored that line of text.

 _You cheated_

 _How can you say that, claim that?_ Was his swift reply.

Fitz could not talk/text himself out of this assertion; she was confident about that.

 _I told you, Liz, it had been years_ Followed.

She stared at that and thought _I have seen the proof that you have slept with other women, at least one other in the last year: your pregnant wife._ And as it always did, that image of that pregnant woman bending to pick up that little dog, sweet Benny, which made tears well in her eyes.

 _Just how many women do you date at one time?_

 _Bastard W_ as sent in a flurry of her thumbs then she threw her phone on the desk and walked to her bedroom and shut the door to cry.


	29. Bewitched Bothered & Bewildered

**Volume 3: Healing**

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered"

 _Lost my heart but what of it  
_ _He is cold, I agree  
_ _He can laugh but I love it  
_ _Although the laugh's on me_

 _I'll sing to him  
_ _Each spring to him  
_ _And long for the day when I'll cling to him  
_ _Bewitched, bothered and bewildered, am I_

May always meant Mother's Day. There was this tension, even the weekend before, as if Minerva Bennet thought there should be extra attention paid to her, as if her daughters ought not to even return to their homes or the dorm. But with only weeks before the Maker Faire, Tom was working hard on his little bugs for the Faire and needed attention and help.

Liz felt like she spent the whole weekend bouncing between her parents to make them happy. It did not help that as soon as Mary had bounced into the car one Friday, she had announced. "I'm really doing it. I'm moving to Boston with Bridget. I just need to figure out how to tell Mom and Dad."

"You are so going to put Mom over the top, there will be so much yelling that you can't do it while I'm there," had been Liz' reply.

"I need you as backup," Mary had pouted.

"No way," had been Liz' replied.

* * *

Mary was done with school by the time the Maker Faire rolled around, but Liz was embroiled in a mountain of end-of-school-year work. Some teachers parceled courses out and were kind. Anything before the midterm did not count and was not considered on the finals. Her participation and on-going writing counted for a large portion. But other professors were not so kind and things snowballed. There was an awful lot to do in those final weeks as she looked ahead to the end of May and the end of school. Liz wondered how it was going to play out for Jane in graduate school.

Of course Jane had not said no to Tom and was a dutiful daughter who would drive up to be a _booth babe_. Liz, at least, had been able to talk Jane out of having to help set up. Mary would drive over with their father while Liz would drive up the peninsula to the fairgrounds and help set-up their dad's little display.

He was highlighting something that came to light at night. Tom had finagled being in one of the large buildings on the fairgrounds, but he also had an easy-up tent with make-shift curtains on the sides (made of tarps) so that they could simulate complete darkness to show the power of his little solar-powered bugs.

The powering of the bugs had to be done artificially since they were indoors all day. They would shine powerful flashlights on the creatures to charge them, but the effect was rather beautiful. There were real potted plants in their tarp-covered booth with all of the little bugs on display. A sheer green curtain hung at the entrance which had been sewn with silk flowers to make it more inviting.

The curtain made a nice touch to the otherwise dark setup. Liz thought that their dad, in ensuring that the inside of the booth was dark, had not considered that the outside was unappealing. She was not sure that people walking by and seeing this tarp-covered booth would wish to step in and look. Not too many people are inclined to walk down dark alleys. She convinced her father to move one or two of the potted plants from inside to out in front so it gave it more appeal and welcomed passersby.

She and Mary looked at Mr. Bennet's rather small and homemade signs and shook their heads in unison. Tom had never been one for business, never been one with a sense of how to sell a product. He was always one for creativity, not one for selling, and had no sense as to how you got the word out about the reasons _why_ what you were selling was so wonderful, and how you appealed to customers. Even the name was, to Liz, not catchy, 'Illuminated Insects' when she had suggested and had him reject 'Spotlight on Bugs.'

Tom Bennet walked out of his little tent and fussed with setting up a display of one of his butterfly prototypes in one of the green plants. Liz stood in a spot across the walkway where she had gone to look at the overall setup of **Illuminated Insects,** and considered her father.

She had argued over the years with both of her sisters about their father and his lack of business acumen, for not providing sufficiently for the family which meant that all three of them were largely having to put themselves through college. Liz thought of the cost of her own tuition and the amount that her sisters were paying.

She thought of innate abilities. Maybe Tom Bennet was not formed for business. He was not a social man that he could have partnered with someone to run a business should he have been clever and invented something sellable years ago. Not everyone is meant to be a millionaire. It hit her in a painful way that part of her had wished for a different father who could have done better at providing.

Part of her also realized that she had believed for many years that Tom Bennet had been lazy and had not worked hard enough. But Tomaso Bennet was not a lazy Italian and those cruel kids in high school were wrong. Life had not worked out for her father despite his working to the best of his abilities. Maybe her issue with rich men was simply that they were rich men. Some people work hard and made a lot of money (others did not work hard and still make millions). Her dad worked hard in his own way, but had not received recognition. Perhaps she needed to forgive her father.

Liz wondered about herself; looked at herself. Was there something, a longing which pulsed and ebbed inside that made her _attracted_ to rich men, so she was in turn _attractive_ to them? She started to think she must question everything she knew about herself. In some ways she still felt like she was lost, the woman majoring in _English_. What English major knows what she is going to do in life?

"Liz, come and help," called Mary who stuck her head out of the tent. Liz turned to go back and help.

* * *

The Maker Faire is madness, utter madness. It is so crowded that often times they need to turn people away at the gates. It is a showcase for people to do what its name says; it is a venue for people to show off what they have made. There are hand-made items, mechanical, recycled, metal, paper, glass, plastic and computerized inventions as well.

Liz was there at the front, doing her part. The Maker Faire was not necessarily about selling, though. It was not a fair where one buys and sells things so much as it was a place to highlight your talents and creativity, but with the idea that maybe somebody might be interested in buying your idea and help you market it, or if you had a website, they might go online, and buy whatever it was you were featuring.

Liz Bennet found she was the type of person who could talk to the people who walked by (mostly intent on some _other_ destination). Why not consider a bug for your backyard that did not give you the willies, it was so colorful! She realized she had a natural talent to weave a tale about her dad's creations for the people who came by their setup to eye the metal bugs. Her father could only speak about them in more mechanical and practical terms. (There _were_ some visitors who wanted to know how he wired them, connected the solar panels, or what sorts of light bulbs he used.) But she realized that first day the differences between her father's abilities and her own.

Liz spent a lot of time, when not talking to customers, thinking more about what she would do once she finished school. Rather than feeling dismayed about it, she was feeling empowered by it. (Despite her mother considering that she could only go into teaching with an English degree, poor pay and all.)

She considered what English had done for her. She read historical texts and modern texts. She read texts from different cultures which had been translated into English. She read texts from a multitude of points of view which gave her insights into people and culture and time and place and history. Liz thought she had developed quite a powerful view of the world and of people and that she could engineer that into working in a place like a law office.

She enjoyed the creative process, though she had found she liked writing short stories better than writing longer works, and was not sure that short stories were anything which would garner her any income. Everything on the internet was free so why should anyone pay her to write? But perhaps there _were_ online publications that might hire her or pay her for her work. Maybe she could work for some news or human interest website.

She did not want to think about Fitz, but often, Liz could not help thinking about him. They had argued once, when she had accused him of being a businessman simply to make money, and he had rounded on her by suggesting he might be a microlender. Liz thought about working for a company like that: where she might be in a position to write grant proposals to ask for money.

She thought she might enjoy such work and be good at it. Liz could both write proposals, but she could also be someone who could ask for the money should she need to go, shake hands, and make a direct appeal for it. Maybe her appeal to those rich businessmen could be something she could shift to an advantage. Use it to solicit donations from those businessmen for a fund to help lift women out of extreme poverty when the wives of those businessmen could not lift themselves out of bed before eleven in the morning.

* * *

Mary was extremely helpful at the Faire booth. Liz knew it was because of her desire to move to Boston with Bridget. Mary had been cagey when asked about whether or not she had actually done the paperwork to transfer to this college all the way across the country and would not say, one way or the other, but she assured Liz that _Bridget_ was going. Mary's extreme helpfulness with their father was a way of garnering his sympathy for her cause, and they both knew it.

Tom Bennet even seemed to notice. "Mary you seem particularly happy that school is out. Has college done you so much good that you are over being the gothy, gloomy teenager, and you are to join your older sisters in being a little more cheerful, a little more normal?" he asked.

Mary was a little startled. Liz noticed her reaction as though her sister knew she had overplayed her hand. But Mary nodded and went along with his suggestion, "I am happy to be done," she agreed then she threw on a frown, "I am still not quite sure what-the…" She then bit her tongue because for all that their parents were understanding, they did not put up with swearing, "I don't know what I'm going to do this summer since I haven't found a job yet."

Liz knew Mary had not looked too hard. She had been enjoying sleeping, and had said that she had been catching up on and relearning some music but not much else.

"Well, there is always the solar business. I could use your hands," said their father.

"Yeah, Dad, but you don't _pay_ ," said Mary. "You just assume I'll work for free." Something crossed her face as though Mary remembered she wished to remain on Tom's good side. To cover herself, Mary burst into a song and her dad shook his head and said, "one of _your_ songs. Can't you sing like…I don't know… something _I know_?"

"The seventies were so weird," growled Mary who stopped singing to shake her head. "KISS? _Really_?"

"Okay, maybe I listened to them for a month," he confessed, "but there was hard rock too, the Stones had their heyday."

"Yeah, but disco?" argued Mary who forgot herself.

"There were some cool disco songs," he said. "It was nice dancing."

"Dad, it's just…I don't know how to tell you this," said Mary, "disco is just not soulful, no passion."

"I am not sure I want to consider my children talking about passion," he said, and turned to walk to the other side of the tent.

People seemed to come in waves to check out their little garden insect collection. They would come all in a bunch; and the Bennets would dutifully light up the butterflies, honey bees and fireflies. Then it was as though people were not brave enough to walk through the door, and they would only _eye_ the setup with suspicion, and no one would cross the threshold. Then another wave of people would come in again.

Jane dutifully showed up, having left school quite early that morning. Tom thought she should just stand at the door being her pretty and welcoming self to direct people in, but all of the sisters objected to that. They protested that would be _so unfair_ to trade simply on Jane's looks alone, and was not this the twenty-first century? Maybe Mary ought to sing if Jane was to stand there with her pretty face.

Mary added "I thought Liz was doing pretty good talking to people and conning them in like the proverbial spider conned the fly into the parlor," and they all laughed.

* * *

Fitzwilliam had talked about going to the Maker Faire once or twice with Charles about the idea of checking out all of the innovations which people showcased. He mentioned it when they got to the end of discussions about work and moved on to more easy conversations. Charles sounded very interested in going.

They talked about whether they should go officially, as if it were a company-sponsored visit, but there were last minute things to do Friday so the pair decided to go on Saturday and enjoy a more relaxed day. Somehow, Bob got wind of it, and Fitz was surprised that Bob wanted to come.

Fitz had swung by Bob's office to discuss some sales numbers, but was surprised when Bob expressed an interest in going. Fitz asked his cousin _why_ he wanted to come.

Bob looked up with a wolfish grin, "booth babes."

"Pardon?" Fitz called out.

"I don't know if you've gone before?" asked Bob.

Fitz nodded, "yes."

"Haven't you ever been and seen the one or two wild inventors who have booth babes who dress in chain mail bikinis?"

Fitz pulled his head back to stare at his cousin, "I think I missed the women who wore chain-mail bikinis."

"I just really worry about you," said Bob, then his face sobered up. "You are still not going to tell me, are you? What went so wrong?"

"I told you, she disappeared. I don't know what went wrong."

"So you say, but it takes two to tango. Anything that goes wrong in a relationship—it is half her and half you," said Bob.

Fitz doubted that very much. He could not fathom that he had done anything wrong when it was Liz who disappeared. She had replied to his text that day telling him she did not want to see him again and refused any more communication. There had not been any real enlightenment, only confusion after that disastrous luncheon. He had realized he was on the rebound, at least, and was no longer attempting to find the ideal wife to ensure there was a next generation for Pemberley Energy. But he still thought it was Liz who had walked away and rejected him, thus her fault.

"There was nothing I did wrong," he asserted

Bob got up and shut the door. "Okay so you moped for a couple of weeks and then you have been a right royal son of a bitch. I still cannot believe you would listen to Aunt Kate. April was arrogant bastard month around here with that one battery guy, Carter, detailing all his conquests," said his cousin. "But you were quite the arrogant bastard too, I have to say. And I thought that was _my_ job," he complained. "All you've said, whenever I asked, is 'she disappeared,' but considering how little I know about her, about the two of you in the first place, that does not tell me a lot," said Bob.

"That's the thing," said Fitzwilliam, "I didn't know that much about her myself and that was my undoing…okay maybe that was my mistake. She's probably one of those..social climbers like my PA, or like that awful one I dated a few years ago whose name I can't even remember."

"Tiffany?" suggested Bob.

"Something like that, another knee, name, Courtney? I can only assume Liz found better pickings like Collins even though she said they weren't dating, so she moved on. But it's not my fault!"

"So tell me again about how she disappeared?"

"I was going to take her to the trade show in Vegas and she didn't show."

"Trade Show, huh," said Bob. "That seems quite the leap for a relationship that was early stages, taking her to Vegas, were you thinking Vegas wedding? How long were you two…dating?" he sort of stumbled over his words. "It didn't seem like you were seeing each other very long and then you asked to take her away for the weekend?"

"You are questioning me taking a woman away for the weekend?" asked Fitz in confusion.

"Yes," said Bob. "I rarely, _ever_ , do something like that. That's commitment-level sort of stuff."

"Commitment-level? But we barely ever saw each other," cried Fitz. "I saw her for minutes in the morning when she walked dogs and that was only on weekdays, and then we only had three dates, but otherwise, she would never make time for me, so I thought why not take her to Vegas?"

Bob shook his head. "I think you have your answer right there. You probably scared the living daylights out of her. Like you spent a total of, what? eight hours together then you're taking her to Vegas? My god! What the hell were you thinking? There are rules!"

"You and your damned rules," growled Fitzwilliam.

"Yeah, there are rules. You can have sex but you go home to your own place the first time. You don't spend the night. The second time, maybe then you spend the night. You work up to the whole going away for the weekend thing after you've been together for maybe a couple of months. It sounds like it was the third weekend and you know…"

"This is so not you," interrupted Fitz. "You're like, the bed them and leave them kind of guy."

"I can't believe you have known me all my life and don't get what is my persona and what is the real me?" Bob looked up. "I thought I told you before. I write love songs all the time; I am looking for love—just looking in the wrong places and not ever finding it," explained Bob.

"You can't possibly believe I was at all at fault," Fitz swung back to their original argument.

"You're male, I don't care," said his cousin. "She is going to blame you. Even if it was entirely her fault and it's some weird misunderstanding, it's _your_ fault. Well, it's half your fault, but you cannot claim it was _not_ your fault. That's the way it works in relationships."

Fitz started to open his mouth again, and Bob interrupted him, "okay, we're not going anywhere with this so we might as well drop it. And the plans are we're taking the train, right?"

"We'll take the train. Charles is excited to go."

"So am I," said Bob, "chain-mail bikinis."

"Surely they wear something underneath?" asserted Fitz.

"Well, they are making it a little more family-friendly, the Maker Faire these days, but...I've seen...nope, they do not," said Bob.

Fitzwilliam scrunched his face up, "wouldn't you get…things caught…I…never mind, I am not even going to go there."

"Okay," and they made plans to meet at the Atherton train station.

* * *

It was a little more of a hike from the train station to the fairgrounds than he anticipated, and Bob grumbled. He had not dressed to hike. "You are probably used to this…all that exercise…outdoors!" he quipped.

"I am back on the treadmill," asked Fitzwilliam, and he left it at that. They made it through the entrance gates with the entire crowd.

"This is all so fascinating. Who knew!" said Charles with his rather engaging accent, but it had a rather high-pitched flourish at the end.

Bob simply shook his head. "Okay, normally," he said, putting his hand on Bingley's shoulder. " _Normally_ , the accent is really appealing and chicks love it. But the way you just said that, you are going to scare them right off. Quit acting like a five year old."

Charles laughed, "I didn't know we came here to pick up women. Is that one of the advantages too?"

Fitzwilliam shook his head, "this is business. Remember we're here to look at energy stuff."

"No we're not," said Bob. "Booth babes, chain-mail bikinis." Charles looked back at his friend Mason.

"No, energy," said Fitzwilliam.

"Booth babes." The two men argued playfully as they walked into the crowds.

Charles _was_ like a little kid; there was so much to see, and he wanted to sample everything and please couldn't they do everything and go everywhere? There were things to see outside on the fairgrounds, though the crowds were incredibly dense. There was a walking machine, drones, mechanical and computerized vehicles, or creatures that moved.

All three of them liked the big dragon you could sit in, but who would not? If you were five or twenty-five or seventy-five, a metal, fire-breathing dragon you could ride in appealed to most people. There were some inventors who were hawker types and who were just sure they had a million-dollar invention. There were others who were shyer and humble, but still talented, and who wanted to showcase their little inventions. It was difficult not to stop at each booth.

At one point, the trio braved the food trucks to get something to eat, and Charles was floored that most everything was fried and massively caloric. He had this idea of California and health food which was belied by every sort of high-calorie food in fried form available before him, and practically not a green item on any menu.

But the buildings were also full of things on these aging fairgrounds; buildings no individual architect had planned to be cohesive and live together. They all appeared to have been constructed in a disjointed way; there was no sense of how you got from one building to another. The crowds definitely added to the confusion that the buildings did not belong together—everything was very organic.

There was a rather dark exhibit hall that they stumbled into almost because the crowds pulled them along and in through the doors. It contained various gadgets which lit up in different ways. There were light up clothes, signs, some solar designs to be sure, and Bob almost cried because someone had wired an old piano with lights. They made their way through it slowly, pushing against or with the crowds. At one point one of them suggested they all needed to grow beards in order to fit in as they appeared to be the only three clean-shaven men. People made things from soda pop bottles, from metal, from flexible tubing, or wood, and all with some sort of illumination.

They walked along one edge of the hall which did not have inventions of particular interest for any of them and where it seemed particularly dark. There was a flashing light blinking on and off overhead, almost like the strobe lights up in the sky at a Hollywood premiere, beckoning them to some booth, but they would flash on and off, then change patterns. The trio was not able to identify where they were coming from.

As they trailed along, merely attempting to move through the crowds, nothing caught their eye though Fitzwilliam noticed one particularly dark and ugly setup. He spared a thought for how uninviting it was. It seemed a cheap tent; rather than a table and an eager face out front willing to tell you about his or her invention, or some pretty face luring you in to tell you more (those booth babes Bob was so enamored of), this tent was dark and had been hung with blue and green tarps. There were a few potted plants in front, and it had a sort of light-up thing in front which had a weakening, dying light on it. It was not attractive.

Bob stopped walking. "Who is singing?"

Charles agreed, "yeah, I hear someone singing."

"I didn't notice," said Fitz, but he and Bingley had stopped as well. They could hear a voice, a little husky, but a song came at them, but also seemed to surround them so that they could not tell where it originated from.

" _With my man,  
_ _He's not much for looks,  
_ _And no hero out of books,  
_ _Is my man_."

Bob was mesmerized as he listened and it was like those searchlights which had been zipping overhead. They could not locate where the voice came to them in that crowd.

"It sounds like Holiday," said Bob. Fitzwilliam and Charles looked at him.

"What?" asked Charles

"Yeah, Billie Holiday, 'My Man.' Other people have sung it, but there's something about her voice which reminds me of Holiday's version."

"Who's Billie Holiday?" asked Charles.

"She's a jazz singer," said Fitzwilliam, who knew a little of Bob's interest and had been subjected to both clubs and recordings.

"Oh," said Charles. "I'm afraid I only really know pop songs."

"She probably died fifty years ago," explained his friend as they watched Bob stand fixated.

" _All my life is just despair,  
_ _But I don't care ,  
_ _When he takes me in his arms._ "

"Yeah," said Bob, who was still frowning.

"Wow!" cried Charles.

"Huh?" said Fitzwilliam in confusion.

"Look," said Bingley, who motioned with his head. There was a blond woman coming their way with a cardboard food tray. She gingerly negotiated her way through the crowds of people with that tray held level before her.

"I don't know when I last saw anything more beautiful," said Charles.

"She's quite the looker," said Fitz.

Bob still had a frown on his face but he turned, "oh my god she's gorgeous. I suppose you have dibs on her now, Charles? Since you spotted her first?"

"Do you think she's one of these 'booth babes' that you talked about?" asked Charles.

They watched as she approached that dark tent and then stopped to nudge aside the curtain. "Mary? Are you singing? You shouldn't be singing," they heard the beauty call to someone inside. "Dad hates it when you sing." An indistinct voice answered.

"I think we need to check out that tent," said Bob, looking from the ugly tent back to Charles.

"I agree," said Bingley and their feet moved accordingly.

"You two," sighed Fitzwilliam. "I will wander around outside once you are done spelunking. Text me when you are done." Neither responded, Fitz was not sure if they heard.

* * *

A/N: late getting chapters 28 and 29 up but I have no qualms about it. No I wasn't evacuating because of the Northern California fires, but I went up to work a shift at an evacuation center as a volunteer. Some cleaning bathrooms, organizing, but a lot of listening to folks who have lost their homes, everything or are hoping they won't and are waiting to hear.


	30. It's Alright

Chapter Thirty

"It's Alright"

 _Hold a little soul  
_ _And make life your goal  
_ _And surely something's gotta come to you  
_ _And you gotta say, "It's alright"_

 _And say, "It's alright"  
_ _Say, "It's alright, have a good time"  
_ _'Cause it's alright  
_ _Whoa, it's alright_

Despite that roiling masses of people so pressed against each other that you had to be quite intimate with strangers in order to shuffle past them (brushing past not with inches to spare but scooting by, wedging yourself between bodies), Liz forced herself through the crowds with her lunch.

She was frustrated with her father. He had become increasingly discontented because of the lack of interest by Faire attendees in his bugs. She and her sisters blamed the dark tent and the set-up. They thought that people really did like the bugs, these happy light-up garden bugs, but the entire darkened tent experience had been unnecessary in the darkened hall. That was not what Tom Bennet believed. He wanted the cover of darkness which had obviously put off a lot of people.

There were crowds out in front of the tent but they had little foot traffic _inside_. When they had decided to go in search of something to eat, Jane had hurried away to get something for herself, and Mary, who was covering the booth, returned quickly. But Tom had lingered as he went from food truck to food truck in search of a beer with Liz trailing behind him, watching. She and her father had finally split up when he had not found what he was looking for. He could not find someone selling alcohol at lunchtime, and Liz turned back to go help her sisters.

Liz had learned to live with a certain soreness in her heart, as far as Fitz. That day, two weeks ago, when she had been out for lunch with Charlotte and C.W. had brought up a lot of emotions. It had been, however, a little easier to go back to her routine since she was halfway through the school quarter and not in the middle of the break with nothing to occupy her mind besides memories, mostly happy memories of Fitz, except for that disastrous morning.

But there he was on a Saturday afternoon, looking a little impatient as he glanced at displays across from her father's booth. Liz stepped back, attempting to find a place to hide from him, determined to not have another confrontation. She wondered if he could pick her out in a crowd just as easily as she had noticed him? He seemed to be without true interest in any booth or particular invention. She wondered if his company was one which dealt with lighting that he was in this corridor, or had he simply come to the Faire for frivolity and fun like thousands of other people?

He appeared to be lingering, his body language suggesting no true interest where his eyes were focused, but he also did not seem to be in a hurry to move. So Liz stood with her cardboard box, the food cooling; no doubt the fries would be inedible by the time he moved out of sight and she could pass. Two men came up and talked to him with greatly animated faces, and Liz realized he had not come alone.

He must have friends. He obviously had done things on the weekends when she had gone home to her parents. Fitz had filled them with activities because she had not been available, had to go home to her mother, but her insides squeezed up as she saw him speaking to those friends. She wondered why he had come with them and not with his wife? Perhaps the wife was home with the baby, but the Maker Faire might have appealed to his little boy and why had he not brought his son? Liz tried to steel herself, as she thought of that pair who were so glad to get their Benny back. At last, that trio of men moved on and out of sight, and Liz could return to the **Illuminated Insects** tent.

When she got back to their booth, Jane and Mary were talking excitedly. Mary had a rather angry tone to her voice, but Liz did not pay them much mind. She sat in a far corner and thought about having seen Fitz in that crowd. She looked down at the food in her box, poked at the fries and agreed with herself that they were cold and repulsive. She attempted to take a few bites of the wrap sort of thing she had bought, but decided she had no appetite. Her thoughts were only on Fitz. Liz wondered if it would ever be easy to run into him. She imagined in ten years it would be, but after two months, no, no.

"It smells like French fries in here!" cried their father. "Why couldn't you eat outside? No one will want to come in," he said as he walked through the drapes then stopped to hold them open as if to air out the tent.

"Sorry dad," said both Mary and Liz. Jane had eaten on her way back to the booth and had also not opted for fries.

"Here, let me take all of our garbage and get rid of it." Mary gathered up the cardboard trays, "why don't we open up the curtain, and take down one of the tarps, it will help to air it out?"

"That ruins the effect," he growled.

Mary sighed, "okay…um…" she left off another attempt to modify the bug tent to be more welcoming to customers.

They had an indifferent number of visitors that day despite Saturday afternoon being the busiest day for the Maker Faire. After a time, Tom seemed resigned or indifferent to people viewing his creations. His daughters took it in turns to actually stand out in front with the bugs and attempt to induce people inside.

At one point, when it was Mary's turn to be outside that curtain, Jane and Liz sat gazing at their phones since there were no customers inside. Tom appeared to be napping.

"Oh!" cried Jane.

"What is it?" asked Liz who looked over at her.

"He texted!"

"Who texted?" asked Liz.

"You weren't here; you were off getting something to eat. This guy came by and just starting talking…and I gave him my phone number," answered Jane as she looked down at her phone.

"You? Wait! Random guy, and of all places, here? A.J.!" said Liz looking at Jane in that dark space; she could not see Jane's face clearly.

"Don't call me that, you know I hate that," said Jane, "that is you at your worst younger sister-ness."

"I know; I used to tease you because you would bristle so much. You were always so beautiful and perfect. I've had moments of jealousy, you know," said Liz. "But what would induce you, Ariana Jane Bennet, perpetual college student, to give a guy your phone number?"

"I don't know, he just seemed…sweet. And a moment of weakness?" continued Jane who still looked at her phone.

"You? You've always had The Plan. How is it possible for you to have a moment of weakness?" asked Liz.

"Yeah, well, but The Plan has sort of not been working out," said Jane who looked finally at Liz. "I may be changing it."

"Besides," argued Liz, still attempting to make sense of Jane's behavior, "you live six hours away and no doubt this guy lives up here!"

"But I'm moving here for the summer," said Jane. "And he has this cute British accent."

"Oh, it's all about the accent," said Liz. "Well I suppose, if you're just going to be working, you might have time for dating. Let me tell you, the whole school and dating thing—there's _never_ enough time. Not when Mom insists you come home every weekend."

"I'm sorry. I won't talk about it," said Jane. Jane pressed her phone to her chest and looked with concern at Liz for talking about something that was potentially harmful. "I suppose even if I dated it would remind you of your hard times."

"That's okay Jane. I've had enough hard times," said Liz. "I know how to move on. And I know how to live vicariously through you. So please text this guy back and have a great time."

* * *

Liz convinced Jane to return home Sunday morning and to not work at the booth. Tom was reluctant, despite the light booth traffic, to see Jane go. He somehow thought that his prettiest daughter was what garnered any of the foot traffic at the booth. But Liz took him aside and while not exactly scolding him, told him he had to let Jane go because of school on Monday and her long drive home. He did admit she and Mary could do an adequate job and that Sunday was a lighter day anyways—besides which it was a shorter day.

Jane had been sleeping on Liz' couch. She and Liz had a girl's movie night on Saturday night, stayed up far too late, avoided schoolwork, and talked about Merriton with a certain objectivity and detachment. Liz saw Jane drive off down south before she headed back to the Faire, bleary-eyed, on Sunday.

She was tired. She considered, as she drove to long-term parking and then took the shuttle in, what a truly lost weekend it had been as far as schoolwork. She would have two and a half weeks of intense coursework then finals and still had to find something to do for the summer.

Jane said her internship paid pretty well. But going home to Merriton, like Mary, was not an option for Liz because Kevin had come back. Like that unexpected glimpse of Fitz yesterday, she would be sure to run into Kevin if she went back to Merriton. She thought she had enough of a hide now to be able to handle such an encounter, but she would rather avoid him if she could.

Besides, there was no summer work in Merriton which was Mary's complaint. Liz was sure what Mary wanted was to find a good paying job to save for Boston. Liz needed to use every opportunity she had to make money for school, but she was also considering her future and possible career paths.

She had just that Thursday seen an opening for a position up in San Francisco, a non-profit, and she would send them a cover letter and her resume after this weekend. They were an outfit which provided money to dig wells in third world countries, and the internship (actually a short-term contract) was exactly what she wanted: grant-writing. Liz thought how she would never have considered such an opportunity had it not been for Fitz and his mentioning micro-lending. It was funny how she seemed unable not to think about him at odd hours or times of the day or night.

Liz thought too about her dad and this whole failed trip to the Maker Faire. On Tom's insistence on his vision and yet his not being able to see how to market himself. People really did have different abilities. Out of the three sisters, Liz thought she had done the best job in talking up her dad's bugs and garnering interest in them where her dad was focused purely on their mechanics.

Booth visitors often seemed focused more on Jane's face (a common occurrence) or were put off by Mary's sullen mood, particularly as the day had worn on that Saturday. Something had set Mary into a particularly dark place though she had not shared what it was. Mary seemed more inclined to bite people's heads off than to discuss solar-powered lightening bugs.

As the day had wore on, the accumulation of the entire weekend—spying Fitz again, her well of emotions, her father's unhappiness, Jane's uncertainty about her future, and Mary's bitterness—made Liz really look at herself and consider her strengths: writing and being a persuasive speaker. She had hopes about that contract job.

It also made her look at her dad, and made her realize where his abilities ended. He was not someone able to step beyond his own capabilities. Thomas Bennet had limitations of character or energy or purpose (or all three).

She recalled that discussion with Aunt Alice about her mother being perfectly capable of stepping in and saving the family from ruin when it meant the end of Minerva's livelihood, but that Minnie had been happy with the tenor of their lives up until then. Minerva Bennet certainly had some capabilities to utilize when faced with ruin, but maybe her father was limited in the talents he possessed. Nature or nurture had only given him so much and no more. He was a man who could only function at a certain level and not beyond.

Perhaps her father was merely human, but he was her _dad_ and that was okay. She could love and appreciate him for who he was instead of being perpetually disappointed because he was not who she wished him to be.

Liz could also be who she wanted to be, needed to be. She could move on. She could grow up. She could move out from underneath her parent's shadows. She could be Liz Bennet; perhaps she could even be Elisa Bennet again.

She had told Mary that she had not wanted to be there when Mary told their mother about the plans for Boston. She knew how Mrs. Bennet would react, but Liz had no idea of how their _father_ would react. Would it be tears as when they had gone to college, would he be supportive, would he ban Mary from going?

Liz thought it time that they be allowed to be adults and make their own decisions like to choose (or not) to come home for Sunday dinner every _blooming weekend_ when school took so much time and energy. How ridiculous it was: the expectation that Jane would drive six hours to be a booth babe! Her parents _had_ to understand that they needed, all three sisters, to be able to move on with their lives.

In order to do that, they needed to support each other's ventures. So Liz thought the first thing she would do when she saw Mary would be to tell her, 'I will hold your hand when you tell Mom and Dad you want to go to Boston, that you want to change schools and move there.'

She felt empowered and enabled. She wondered if this was how other women in time, in history, had felt when they got their life together and suddenly realized they could function on their own. Or was this merely growing up? Taking charge of your life?

It had been such a burden to have to come home every weekend. The disruption to her studies, despite enjoying the visit to her parents, had been _huge_. Liz knew that she could have done better in her own coursework if she had been home in Palo Alto rather than driving three hours one-way to have her mother's home cooking and endless questions every weekend. Jane had lived at home for her undergraduate years, and Liz thought that showed how brilliant Jane was that she could balance her studies and Minerva Bennet's hysterics yet still have graduated from college and moved on to graduate school.

* * *

Liz waited to tackle her sister, waiting for her father to step away from the booth, before she pounced on Mary. It was easy to do as Tom seemed to be often hiding inside or off in search of a snack.

"Okay. I said I didn't want to be anywhere near the house when you told Mom and Dad about Boston," Liz began.

Mary looked at her like she was going to be thrown under the bus.

"No!" Liz said, with her hands out in front of her. "I want you to know that I support you one hundred percent."

Mary looked surprised and without any idea as to how to interpret Liz' words.

"I will be there by your side when you decide to tell Mom and Dad. Let me explain; I have been thinking it over. _Somebody_ needs to put a foot down in this family. _Someone_ needs to let Mom and Dad know—but especially Mom—that we are not her little ducklings anymore. We need to be allowed to make decisions because we are adults now. _We_ get to decide what we want to do. She can't dress us up in lace and ribbon anymore," asserted Liz. "I don't think any of us liked her choice of clothes for us, even Jane."

Mary made the most disgusting face then.

"She needs to learn to let us be adults," asserted Liz.

"What happened to you?" asked Mary.

"Nothing really," said Liz. "I just decided I wanted to grow up. Realized something. We're doing it anyways. We're all legally adults. We're paying our own way in college yet they still expect us to jump through _their_ hoops. I don't think they have the right to do that. I'm just asserting my right to make choices in my life," said Liz. "But if _I_ get to do it, that means that _you_ get to do it. It means that _Jane_ gets to do it. And Dad and Mom don't get to decide what's right for us. So if you want to go to school in Boston, we'll make it work, Jane and I, and support you one hundred percent. Even if Mom has a fit about it—which she will. And whatever Jane decides to do, if she is going to quit school or if she's going to tough it out, we need to support her."

"You're right," said Mary. "But what're you going to do? It's not like you're faced with some big decision."

"I'm just an English major," said Liz. "What in the world am I doing with English?"

"I don't think you're _just_ an English major," said Mary. "I think you're an orator, a writer, a thinker. You could be a reporter."

"I am _not_ sure I want to be a reporter," said Liz.

"You can go to the Maker Faire and other equally cool events, and report on them. Or be an online reporter, make video reports."

"I don't know that I've the face or the personality for that. But I appreciate the thought," said Liz. "I believe I still want to stick to words and writing." She smiled. "Just let me know when you're ready to talk to Mom and Dad and I'll be there."

* * *

Traffic in the booth was light, but that was what both Liz and Mary expected. Many of their neighbors had begun to pack up by lunchtime. The pair gently suggested to their father that they do so, at least taking the tent sides down, but he would not hear of it. They knew they would have to wait until closing hours to begin packing. They largely shifted between one being out front and the other one sitting inside with their father who seemed to have taken up a book.

They were only an hour from closing and Liz was sitting with her father and considering how to suggest packing again when she heard Mary's raised voice outside.

"Just piss off!"

Liz got up quickly to peer at Mary and her visitor. There was a man with her, on the tall side, and extremely ugly. He had a strap across his chest. She had to step through the curtains before it became clear that he was wearing a guitar. She wondered, this being the Maker's Faire, if it was a mechanical guitar of some sort.

"Piss off," Mary told the man again.

"Please can't we talk?" he asked.

Liz stepped forward. "Can I help you?"

The man smiled. "Sorry, but I wanted to speak to Mary." There was something about the act of speaking which seemed to relieve the ugliness of his face. She did not understand why he was insistent about speaking to Mary.

"I can just as easily explain our product," she said, "our bugs."

"I don't want to talk about bugs," he said. "I want to talk to Mary about music."

"Music!" Liz looked with a frown at Mary whose face was extremely dark. "Mary?"

"He was here yesterday," accused Mary.

"Yes," explained the man. "I heard her singing."

"He told me…he wants…he thinks I should join his band," said Mary who stumbled over her words.

"I do," said the man. Liz felt she was watching the proverbial ping pong match looking back and forth between them.

"I don't believe him," said Mary. "I don't trust men!"

"Look, sir," said Liz, exasperated at these two alley cats bristling and snarling at each other. "Obviously my sister isn't interested. Can't you just leave it be?"

"She has a voice like no other," said the man. "Look…I can get that this is weird, really weird. But I have a jazz band. I can play the piano; I can play the guitar; I can play the sax. I have a friend who plays the drums. I can play the violin."

Both Liz and Mary were impressed with his list of instruments, that last one in particular.

"But we just aren't going anywhere," explained the musically-inclined man, appealing to Mary. "I've a decent enough voice. My friend, the same—but you have an amazing one! I think we might do something great. And you obviously like jazz if you are singing jazz tunes when you are bored!"

"I don't like men," said Mary.

"It's almost time to pack up. Can you just…go," asked Liz.

"No," he said.

"I'm a lesbian, so if this is some elaborate pick-up, it won't ever work," said Mary, who put a hand on a hip.

He seemed a little surprised by that, Mary's disclosure, but he was not put off by it. "Honest, this is not a pick-up line, and I can say that I am _often_ about pick-up lines. Just give me a chance. I know my friend was all over your other sister, the blond one. He wheedled her phone number out of her. But just give me a chance. That's why I brought my guitar. It's portable. I figured the saxophone would've been over the top. I can _prove_ this is what I'm interested in, making music."

He pulled his guitar around to the front, smiled a wide smile at Mary and asked, "what do you think about my axe?" Mary groaned but did not protest anymore. "Any requests?" he asked.

"I have one," said Liz, who felt like she did not understand any of this still.

"Yeah?" he said, but offered her a smile as well.

"I think you should introduce yourself," she explained.

"Bob Richardson," he said. "Your sister is Mary Bennet. Will you introduce yourself?"

"My name is Liz," she said.

"Liz…hmmm," he said. "Interesting."

"Why is that interesting?" she asked.

"Never mind," he said, "good names. Liz and Mary." He looked from one sister to the other. "So, any requests?" he prompted again.

Mary did not seem willing to sing or participate though she had stopped telling him to piss off.

"Guitar is not the best jazz instrument, but the sax would have thrown everyone over the top," he said. He strummed, "Baby It's Cold Outside, maybe?" He started playing a piece, and Mary groaned and turned to the side. Liz did not recognize it, but saw that Mary did. Bob looked at Liz for support, "it's a duet." Mary snapped back to glare at Bob.

He pointed at Mary to indicate that it was her turn to sing. Mary shook her head. Bob sang his line, " _baby it's cold outside,_ " he nodded at Mary who frowned, " _baby it's cold outside,_ " sang Bob to Mary who looked upwards as if imploring God to strike him and all men from the face of the earth.

Bob kept singing, " _been hoping that you'd drop in_." He looked with interest and expectation that she knew the words and would sing them, but Mary crossed her arms over her chest and glared back at this Bob. He dutifully kept going, singing his lines to her, " _I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice._ "

He would lean over to indicate when it was Mary's line, her turn to sing, and Liz could not help but be caught up by his efforts. She looked at Mary who only glared at this man and did not seem to budge an inch, change her stance of being pissed off or wanting him to go away.

" _Beautiful, what's your hurry?_ " elicited such a groan from Mary that she seemed to not be able to resist the music and finally began to use words of her own in response to Bob's lyrics.

She sang back to him, " _father will pound your head to the floor._ "

" _Listen to the fireplace roar_ ," he sang back.

" _Be a little shit and scurry,_ " she sang and made motions with her arms as if shooing a dog away.

" _Beautiful, please don't hurry_ ," his entire face was smiling in amusement, his eyes sparkled. His face no longer looked ugly.

" _Maybe go soak your head in the drink_!" Mary smiled then as she found amusement at her own wit.

" _Put some records on while I pour,_ " he sang back but then added quickly, "that didn't rhyme."

Though it was the end of the day and the end of the Faire (and the crowds had been thinning), one gathered as they listened to Mary and Bob's exchange. They went back and forth through the lines of the song and ended with singing the ending together (and correctly) " _baby, it's cold...out-side_."

People clapped, then stood and waited as if there was to be more entertainment, but Mary and Bob ignored their audience as they glared or stared at each other.

"Mary you have the most beautiful…wait, it is _unique_ ," said Bob finding better words, "it is lovely, it is harmonic and _please_ come sing with me."

"No," she said.

"I'm not asking for a long-term commitment, and we've already established that I'm not hitting on you," he said, frustration in his voice. "But _one_ session. Just come and play with me. You can bring whatever bodyguard you want. Bring Liz!" he turned and appealed to Liz, "bring your sister, bring your dad but _please_! Come play with me."

"Look…Bob," began Mary. "It just wouldn't work out."

"Why not?" he asked. "There is no reason on Earth we could _not_ play together in a band."

"There is a very big one one, argh!" She said throwing her hands up in the air then riffling them through her black and white hair.

"I told you; I'm not hitting on you," he said.

"I'm moving to Boston in August!" cried Mary.

"Okay," he stood still while his mind worked. "Difficult," he said. "Not where I had ever planned to live, but doable."

"What?" cried both Mary and Liz at the same time.

"If you're moving to Boston, then maybe I need to move there too," said Bob. He sounded sincere.

"What sort of job do you have that you can move across the country?" asked Mary.

"I co-own a business," said Bob.

"Oh, god," said Liz. "Mary, turn around and run the other way. The last thing our family needs is another businessman."

"Liz, that's _your_ problem. _Your curse_ : businessmen, not mine," said Mary, who turned back to Bob. "I'm moving to _Boston_ with my _girlfriend_ ," she explained very forcefully.

"Okay," said Bob. "But _one_ session, _one_ recording session. And we'll see how it goes. And then maybe I'm moving to Boston."

"All right," she agreed.

"But will you sing?" He smiled and strummed his guitar. "Sing one song before I go? Just to get you in the mood. Warmed up and considering that you need to be in a jazz band with me."

Mary glared at Bob. Liz could tell she still had serious doubts about the man and his claims though she had enjoyed fabricating crazy lyrics. "What song?"

"You pick," said Bob. "I know most jazz songs."

Mary made a show of staring around, looking at the thinning crowds again as people had given up that they would sing again. She finally looked at him, "Crazy He Calls Me."

"You got it," and he strummed a few times and picked at chords then looked at her and nodded. Mary sang, and sang the correct words this time.

" _I say I'll move the mountains…_ " she began, and continued singing as he played. Liz thought Bob was correct and they were well matched. It was not until the ending of the song that Liz paid more attention to the words.

" _I say I'll care forever,  
_ _And I mean forever,  
_ _If I have to hold up the sky,  
_ _Crazy he calls me,  
_ _Sure, I'm crazy,  
_ _Crazy in love am I,_ " sang Mary.

"You are incredibly talented," said Bob when she finished. They stood looking at each other with a mutual interest over their shared talent. Liz thought about those lyrics and considered that she had been more in love with Fitz Mr. Business Man than she thought despite attempting to erase him from her memory.


	31. Something Cool

Chapter Thirty-One

"Something Cool"

 _And who would think the man I loved was quite so handsome,  
_ _Quite so tall?_

 _Well it's true, (something cool)  
_ _It's just a memory I have, (something cool)  
_ _One I almost forgot_

…

 _Oh wait!  
_ _I'm such a fool!  
_ _He's just a guy  
_ _Who's stopped to buy  
_ _Me something cool!_

Mary's interesting day did not end when her musical friend walked away with his guitar. Her father came out to talk to her.

"I heard you singing," said Tom Bennet who looked at Mary intently. "I also heard that you want to move to Boston. I heard that you want to move to Boston with your girlfriend."

Mary stood looking at her father; she was more often given to battling with her mother than sharing news or even speaking much with her father. Her relationship with her parents was one that consisted more of constant battles with Mrs. Bennet; she had not really had much interaction with Tom Bennet this past year. Not on the same level as Liz, the daughter who sought out Mr. Bennet in his workshop on the weekends. Mary most often escaped the house altogether if she could.

Daughter and father stood there almost as if two strangers looking at each other until he broke the silence. "I think you should go," he said since Mary did not appear to want to speak. "It is for children to leave their childhood house. It is for young people to go off and see the world. In some ways, I regret not leaving Merriton. Your grandfather didn't want me to move away, so I stayed. I found a way to make some money, met your mom, and life has been pretty darned happy for the most part. But still, when I was a young man, I wanted to spread my wings, seek adventures. So I think you should go."

"Thanks Dad!" said Mary with a rather high-pitched squeaky voice which was unusual for that alto-voiced young woman who jumped forward to hug her father.

"Now we just need to figure out what to tell Minnie," said Tom as he patted Mary on the back.

Liz stood to the side. "I suppose this means I need to move home for the summer to placate Mom? Even Jane is not coming home with her job and everything!"

Tom stepped back, though not without one last pat on Mary's shoulder. "No," he barked. "Minerva needs to figure out how to let go. It would just be a disaster all around if you moved home, Elisa. It is bad enough the way you two placate her every weekend. I don't know why you come home and feed that fire. How can you possibly manage it with school and get the grades you do?"

"You mean you wouldn't object if I stopped coming home on the weekends?" cried Liz.

"No, absolutely not," said Mr. Bennet. "I think you two need to let your mother know that she needs to find another job besides being an interfering busybody. Maybe she would find an actual paying one, and I could go into semi-retirement." He smiled a little then.

"You realize," said Mary. "That _you_ will need to deal with Mom claiming to be sick if we start pushing back. She will have vapors, or chronic stomach and bowel pains, or heart troubles or whatever!"

"I have lived with her for what…we have been married for twenty-seven years? I think I can deal just fine with her vapors," he countered.

* * *

Of course there was a big difference between saying they would stand up to Mrs. Bennet and actually doing it. To not come home on the weekends, or be there for Sunday dinners, to actually put themselves and their lives first was a big step.

Both Liz and Mary put off the conversation for a few days. Liz figured she had until the next weekend. Mary figured she had until there was a change in her status, either finding work or this audition/demo with this guy Bob.

Jane texted in the middle of the week to say _Charles calls me every day_

 _Who is Charles?_ Asked Liz.

 _That guy I met at Maker Faire_ Answered Jane.

 _Weird thing is, he's my boss_ Her sister continued.

 _What? Call me!_ Was Liz' immediate reply.

Jane did not call right away, but about fifteen minutes later, her sister finally phoned.

"He's your boss. Wait, is this like another TA situation," implored Liz. "Jane what the hell's going on?"

"Liz…" Jane drew the syllable out. "I don't know what to do. I kind of like him. He's sweet, and he tells funny jokes. But we started talking a little more about work. You stumble on that, right? You share about yourself when you're in a relationship." Liz did not say anything because she realized that maybe she and Fitz had not shared as much as they should have.

"I told you about my internship," continued Jane. "And he's to be my supervisor for the job this summer. I don't know what to do!"

"Well, you can't date him then. You're only texting him now, right? So don't do anything," said Liz. "Besides, how is it you don't remember him when you interviewed for that job?"

"Remember I told you that I interviewed through Skype, and the boss wasn't there because he was away?"

"I kind of remember that," said Liz, who did not recall all the details about Jane's internship given how miserable she had felt the past two months. Perhaps she had not paid as much attention to her sister's life as she should have.

"His grandmother passed away and he had to fly home for the funeral. So he wasn't there to interview me, but everyone on his team did. They gave me a thumb's up so he approved my being hired, sight unseen."

"How weird. Then you met him, but you're kind of attracted to him too?"

"Yes," sighed Jane.

"Well, I guess that makes sense because you both like fluid dynamics," speculated Liz.

"I suppose so," said Jane. "But aren't opposites supposed to attract?"

"I think a lot of that is baloney," asserted Liz. "And opposites attracting just leads to a lot of trouble like me and business men. English major and business man: if that isn't an opposite and hasn't that gotten me into lots of trouble? Hhhhh," she sighed.

"Liz…" placated Jane. "Someday, things will work out for you. Are you and Charlotte speaking yet?"

" _Barely_ ," sighed Liz. "I told you about that ride home. And it's been pretty tense since. But I guess that guy Raj: he's a chemist and works for a pharmaceutical company," she huffed, "but there's an in there for Charlotte. So Charlotte and Raj have been like, talking a lot. I don't know if they are dating-talking, or just talking-talking like about a job. But _we're_ not really talking. Anyways, according to Brad _who is_ talking to Charlotte, things are looking up, this Cardio or Car…whatever company is actually having her in to interview for some job because they do cardiovascular stuff including cardiovascular devices which is where she wants to be…and why are we talking about Char when we could be talking about _you_? Oh my god, you're going to date your boss and that's just a disaster and this is the whole TA thing all over again, and you're going to be in tears!" finished Liz all in a rush.

"No," said Jane. "We haven't dated yet. It will all work out. Just…I…you know. No," said Jane. "Maybe I just won't take the job."

"Don't you dare!" cried Liz with vehemence. "You need it. You're in the same position I am. We both have student loans to pay back. And I told you all about our n'er-do-well Uncle Phil, and Mom sending him money, so don't you dare! You take that job and keep this Charles at arm's length this whole summer. Then you date him."

* * *

School kept Liz on her toes; her mind more occupied this quarter than the last. She felt like she had more work, despite one less class, but it seemed like half again as much work.

She followed her father's advice, and on Thursday she found she was brave enough. Liz called her mother to say she would not be coming home for the weekend. It played out as she expected, with a hysterical conversation on her mother's end, but Liz explained she was simply too busy with school. Her mother countered that Liz had never had so much to do so far before finals. Liz explained that it was different; she was a junior now. _"It just was different!_ "

After twenty minutes of her ear burning, she was finally able to get Minerva Bennet off the phone and realized with a sense of relief and freedom that she did not have to juggle that trip home and could focus on her schoolwork. Of course, that meant tip-toeing around Charlotte as they were still being extremely polite to one another.

Both of her sisters called on Saturday. Mary called to ask if she could bunk on the couch the next weekend as she had made arrangements with her new musical friend Bob to finally do a formal session together. Given the situation with Charlotte, Liz made sure to formally clear it with her roommates when in the past it would not have mattered.

Jane called to say that she was flying up north for her birthday.

"Flying up, really? Wow! That's kind of a pricey proposition to spend that sort of money on your birthday for a little home cooking," asserted Liz.

"Well…" hesitated Jane. "I'm not going home," she explained.

"What!" cried Liz.

"No. I'm not coming back to the Bay Area to go home to Merriton," said Jane.

"What's going on?" Liz half growled, half whispered.

"Well you see, Charles is flying me up. And we're going to do a birthday dinner," explained her sister.

Liz was incensed. "Charles is flying you up! Your new boss who you weren't going to date! Oh my god, what are you thinking? Apparently you're not thinking! Where has your mind gone? Jane! Really!"

"He's just so sweet. I don't know what I'm going to do. _He_ doesn't know what he's going to do either."

"You've only been texting each other and talking on the phone. You've never even seen each other in person since the Maker Faire?" asked Liz.

"Yes," said Jane.

"I can't believe this. This is just insane. Jane! A.J.!"

"Stop it!" snapped her sister.

"Look, I need to get you to pay attention. Don't make stupid choices based on…I don't know. Guys think with their dicks, but you are certainly not thinking with your head."

"Don't make this so ugly, Liz. Why can't it be about our hearts?" asked Jane. "Why can't this be that we're thinking with our hearts?"

"You've only known him…you've never met him except…and he's going to be your boss…" Liz was faltering for words. "Don't ruin a potential career over an infatuation. Think about stupid me and rich business guys and that going up in flames. Your situation with your TA. The last I heard you were considering not going back to graduate school. So if this doesn't work out what're you going to do in the fall?"

"I don't know," said Jane. "It's just one date." She stood by her plans. "Nobody needs to know. Who beside you and Charles will know?"

* * *

Fitzwilliam worked a whole week in June, Monday through Friday, and realized he did not have either Charles or Bob stop by, or reach out in any way, nor had he heard from them except through some expected reports. He wondered about that, even when Bob was _not speaking_ to him his cousin would swing by to check up on him. But their disagreement had been resolved once he disentangled himself from his month of disingenuous dating in April.

Charles had been a less frequent visitor, but Fitz thought it odd that he had not seen either man all week, neither hide nor hair of them. He thought he would rather tackle Charles than his cousin. Discussions with Bob often ended, not cruelly exactly, but there was often an odd little twist which would come up where Bob would point out his faults. He was surprised, however, when he swung by Charles' office to see that Bob was apparently speaking to Bingley.

"I didn't expect to see you here," he accused Bob.

"Well that's a fine greeting for your cousin," said Charles, defending Bob's right to visit him.

"I didn't think you two had much interaction at work," back-pedaled Fitz.

"Maybe we're not talking about work," said Bob, who leaned back in his chair and threw his legs out in front of him as he often did. "Maybe we're talking about women."

"That seems far more plausible than work," said Fitzwilliam. "Do you do this often? And on company time?"

"I plead the fifth," said Bob. Charles looked at him with some confusion. Bob waved a hand as if to say he would explain the expression later to the non-American citizen.

"Did you have something in particular you needed to speak to me about?" asked Charles.

"No…" began Fitz looking from one to the other and feeling as if he was being excluded from some club, definitely from the conversation as they were obviously waiting for him to leave. "I guess I'll…I was simply stretching my legs. It has been a long week."

"Okay then, bye," dismissed Charles.

"Bye," said Bob.

"Have a nice weekend, both of you," said Fitzwilliam as he left.

* * *

On Monday, Charles came to see him. "So this rule about not dating anybody at work."

Fitz had not even heard him come in, and Charles had left the door open. "Yes? I thought we put that to bed."

"Well, I was talking to Bob on Friday," began Charles.

"I thought you broke up with Samantha. And someone in HR is really out of bounds," Fitz shook his head.

"It's not Samantha," placated Charles.

"Who is it now, Mrs. P.? I know she's single now. All the sales women seem too busy for relationships, not that I wouldn't put that past you Charles." He would have continued going through the list of available women in the company, but Charles held up a hand.

"No, look. It's my intern."

"Your intern? I thought she was not scheduled to start..." and Fitz frowned as he picked up his phone. "Isn't she supposed to start _next_ Monday?"

"Yes," said Charles.

"And you're planning on _dating_ her?" Fitzwilliam thought he could not be more confused.

"Look, it's gotten complicated," said Charles. "But Bob tells me that it's not like we _can't date_ anybody at work, just so long as we don't have any direct authority over their hiring or firing. So, like I could actually date somebody in sales?"

"I suppose that's true," said Fitz, still trying to understand the situation. "But you really need to rethink this Charles. You are upper management and can't you start at the beginning before I give you advice about dating an intern who hasn't even started yet?"

"You remember the Maker Faire," said Charles.

"I think you should shut the door," prompted Fitz as Charles was about to sit down.

"The Maker Faire," began Charles after he did as he had been told. "I don't know if you remember that woman I met? The beautiful one. I think you said she was a looker."

"I remember you going on and on about her afterward," said Fitz, "I recall that point for sure." He leaned back in his squeaking chair.

"Well I got her number and we've been texting and calling each other. And oddly enough, she's my intern."

"How did you not know that?" frowned Fitzwilliam Darcy.

"Remember when Nan died?"

"Yes."

"I had to fly home and attend the funeral," said Bingley.

"You griped about your sister Caroline, anyway," he tried to prompt Charles along. Charles explained how he had hired her, sight unseen.

"I guess I could see that," said Fitz. "But you didn't recognize the name?"

"So here's another funny thing!" said Charles in his rather charming way. "She uses her middle name most of the time, but her C.V. had her given name. So how was I was to know that my intern, Ariana Bennet, was actually this gorgeous lady in front of me, Jane Bennet?"

"Bennet!" said Fitz, who sat up quickly, his chair snapping up to slap him in the back.

"Yes, her family name is Bennet, but you are missing the point. So it said Ariana on her C.V., but she introduced herself that day as Jane. It wasn't until we'd been talking on the phone for days, and we discovered how much we liked each other, that I was going to be her boss this summer."

"Bennet," said Fitzwilliam again.

"Bennet, yeah, just follow along. We talked about calling it off. So we tried not to call each other for four or five days…but we missed each other. So we started talking again."

"Can you just not live without a woman in your life?" growled Fitz as he shook himself from thoughts of Liz to stare at his lovelorn friend.

"Absolutely not," said Charles. "You're the one who asserted that women in Silicon Valley are atrocious. But she's _not_. She's doing graduate work down south, and she comes from this little town called Merriton, and she's the oldest of three sisters, and she's _lovely_! I knew you wouldn't understand which is why I went to talk to Bob." Bingley frowned which was about the closest he got to showing he was upset.

"She doesn't happen to have a sister named Liz?" asked Fitzwilliam.

"She hasn't mentioned her sisters' names, mostly we talk about ourselves. Why do you ask?" Charles' frown was still there.

"Liz' last name is Bennet," said Fitz.

"Oh! That's odd."

* * *

Liz received an email and then a follow-up call about the contract job in San Francisco. Having to take time away from school the week before finals, to go up and interview, was not what she needed to add to her to do list.

But the company and the job was such a perfect fit that she made time that busy week before finals to take the train up for an interview. She needed to skip her final class on sexuality in literature to do it; she hoped the professor wouldn't dock her for it. They told her that she was not the only candidate, and they were to speak with other candidates through the following week before making a decision.

It was difficult not to put all of her eggs in one basket, but she had so far not seen anything else that appealed to her besides working alongside Ron at The Trading Post. But with finals approaching, Liz did not have much time for anything besides rewriting her papers and consolidating her projects.


	32. Somethin' Stupid

Chapter Thirty-Two

"Somethin' Stupid"

 _I practice every day to find some clever lines to say  
_ _To make the meaning come through  
_ _But then I think I'll wait until the evening gets late and I'm alone with you  
_ _The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red and, oh, the night's so blue  
_ _And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like "I love you"_

Mary said she was going to bring Bridget with her as a bodyguard when she went for her audition though it was not really an audition since Bob Richardson sent her daily emails or texts pleading with her to come sing and play with him.

Both women were skeptical about the day's' events though Mary had a certain level of excitement. She had not yet found a summer job, not that this would be anything like having one. Though she loved jazz, there were so many different _persuasions_ that it was possible that what Bob liked, she hated. That song he started with that day at the Maker Faire had never been one of her favorites. Mary always thought it was demeaning to women.

They had agreed to three hours, but Mary and Bridget ended up staying six.

It was the weekend before finals, so Liz had not really noted that Mary had come and gone that Saturday. Her mind, body, and soul were all focused on finishing papers. Mary returned to Palo Alto in the late afternoon. She brought Bridget back with her. Liz had not yet met the girlfriend; Bridget had driven over in the morning to pick Mary up without stepping inside to say hello. She had been a carefully kept secret for all that Mary was so confrontational about her sexuality.

Mary was so often abrupt that it was an interesting introduction; her sister was shy, sweet even. As Liz watched Mary introduce Bridget, Liz instantly had images of their sister Jane in her mind as she noticed the loving way Mary smiled and hovered around Bridget as she was introduced to Liz, Charlotte, Brad, and Ron.

Bridget was petite and wiry as if a gymnast when younger who had kept her graceful and athletic body. She had a kind face, very cropped hair, and oddly, wore a pair of very round glasses which made her look owl-like, given her petite, bird-like body. Mary said Bridget often dyed her hair at the drop of a hat but that closely-cropped head was only black or dark brown today. "Mood head," had been Mary's take on Bridget's coloring of her hair. Liz wondered if this dark hair reflected Bridget's uncertainty about Mary's situation.

Liz wondered if the pair was going to stay and linger which was not a prospect that would be welcome given it was finals—and the still tentative situation with Charlotte. But there had to be some sharing about the day; it had obviously gone well if they stayed twice as long as planned. Mary explained in detail (many of which were lost on Liz), about the nature of Bob's home set-up, music room, and recording situation which interested Brad and Ron.

"It's a wonder his neighbors don't mind," Charlotte had thrown in.

"He has this odd little property in Mountain View, sort of rural in the middle of everything," explained Mary though it was not really an explanation.

"Lots of room, lots of bedrooms. Anyways, Bri and I are going to go back and stay the night," said Mary.

"What!" cried Liz then, who had been observing her sister and Bridget, and considering the subtle non-verbal clues between them. They showed every symptom of being in love.

"It's a big step, Liz," asserted Mary, who looked her sister fully in the eyes. "Deciding to throw my lot in with Bob and pursue music. I'm already doing something life-changing by moving across the country and changing schools."

"Have you applied, _really_?" pressed Liz.

"No," admitted Mary. "I haven't finished the paperwork yet."

"Why not? Do they not have Women's Studies?"

"They do. I'm just considering…do I need to change my focus?" said Mary.

"Music?" suggested Liz.

"No. _Public health_ ," answered Mary.

"Really? That's interesting!" cried Liz.

"There're still lots of issues surrounding women wrapped up in public health. And it sort of ties into what Bri is doing," explained Mary.

"I get it. Sounds perfect," said Liz.

"But we're going to go jam with Bob the rest of the weekend and get out of your hair," smiled Mary.

"No pizza with us, huh?" said Ron. " _Your_ Saturday night sounds more fun than _ours_."

"Are you angling to come along?" asked Mary.

" _Maybe_. I don't have finals." Ron was indeed angling.

"I'll call you our _chaperon_ ," said Mary. "If Bob wants me to sing, he has to put up with all manner of requests."

"You're already sounding like a diva!" cried Liz. "You two haven't even performed together yet."

The three unencumbered people left. The three swamped peopled knuckled under, ate pizza, and studied.

* * *

Ron came back the next day with tales of "this guy must be loaded," before he ran off to work at The Trading Post. Liz could not help but be worried. Any guy who was 'loaded' rang alarm bells everywhere inside for her. She wondered what Mary's next step would be given this unexpected twist in her life. There was no word from the youngest Bennet sister until early evening.

 _Bri driving me home_ Said the text.

 _Here?_ Asked Liz

 _Merriton_ Came the reply. _Going to tell Mom introduce Bridget_

 _YOU ARE BRAVE_ Liz wrote back. _I love you, support you_

Liz could not help but be distracted about what _Tell Mom_ really entailed. She would hear about it from all members of her family soon enough and went back to her studies. She did not know when her family would pull her away from them, so redoubled her focus on her schoolwork.

* * *

After Charles had come by, Fitz had considered his friend's situation, but all he could think about was Liz. Bob had scolded him about not treating her well—not wooing her—with all those jokes about memos missed, assumptions made, how arrogant Fitzwilliam had been about their relationship. He thought Bob had been correct. It seemed everything had been a disaster. His few weeks with Liz. His choosing to adopt Aunt Kate's advice, his rebound behavior. Currently, all he did was work again; he attended no social events, no technology events. He did not think he was going to go to his monthly Silicon Valley Entrepreneur meetings for a while.

 _Was Liz Bennet related to Charles' intern_? Liz spoke of her talented and smart older sister who, if he recalled, was studying engineering. It would be a strange coincidence if they were sisters. He got up and went to the HR department, asking to look at the intern's resume. She did seem very qualified, but he could not ascertain any connection to his Liz by looking at the paper, so he thanked Mrs. P. and handed it back.

Bob sat staring at his monitor, but he was obviously not concentrating on work. His right hand was wrapped around his coffee cup and not his computer mouse.

"Difficult weekend? Too many dates?" quipped Fitz who was not in a kind mood as he walked in.

Bob turned to his cousin. "Actually I had a houseful of people. Two women and a man."

Fitz stopped with his hands on the back of a chair. "You've not taken to… _group_ activities have you Bob?"

"I love how you live your pathetic life through me," said Bob. "What other sexual fantasies have you had that we should discuss? When will you accept that I'm an ordinary guy like you?"

"Sorry," replied Fitz. "I have Liz on my mind."

"You really missed the boat with that one. She sounded perfect and I still don't know what you did to drive her away."

"Something stupid, I'm sure," said Fitz.

"That's the first step to recovery," said Bob. "Now, why are you here as I've a lot on my mind oh cousin and business partner of mine."

"Has Charles talked to you about his intern?" asked Fitzwilliam.

"Yes. He's pretty darn over-the-top in love with her," said Bob who relaxed a little and smiled.

"She hasn't even started yet!" cried Fitz.

"Intriguing and odd, isn't it? That fate has drawn them together." Bob held his hands together in a fist and batted his eyelashes. He had remarkably long eyelashes for such an ugly man.

"Uncanny," said Fitz. "And here's another thing. I sort of suspect that this intern, Jane Bennet, is Liz' older sister."

Bob stopped batting his eyelashes as his face froze. "Liz' sister is Charles' intern which makes them related to Mary."

"Mary?" Fitz brought his eyebrows together.

"That's the youngest sister, the musical one."

"How do _you_ know about the family?" cried Fitzwilliam.

"Maker Faire. Remember when you were all grumbly and mopey but Charles met his Jane? Do you recall my hearing someone sing?"

"Not really. I was, as you said, a bit lost in thought, and you two were acting like little boys that afternoon," growled Fitz.

" _Mary_ was singing. I went back to the Faire the next day. We're going to form a band."

"There is no way she is Liz' younger sister. _My Liz_."

"Why? How do you know?" asked Bob.

"The coincidence is too odd. That Charles' intern and your—singing partner—are both related to my Liz."

"Your Liz, huh? I see you have truly dropped Aunt Kate's views now."

"Yes. I admit I was on the rebound as you asserted," said Fitz.

"It probably helps that for whatever reason, Aunt Kate has gone to Singapore to see Anne. She's no longer on the other end of a phone to nag you," asserted Bob.

"I'm…lost," said Fitz. "I entirely forgot why I came here."

"What would you say if I said I wanted to sell out?" asked Bob.

"I need to sit down," said Fitzwilliam. His pronouncement might be more about a sense of being overloaded and confused than a response to Bob's question.

"Then sit," said Bob. "Really. I know we've talked about it. You've considered having Charles take over my half. But I think I'm ready to finally go. Pursue Music."

"Wow," said Fitz. "What brought this on?"

" _Mary_."

"I didn't think you were the settling down type," said Fitz.

"Grr. I will be with the right woman. _Does anyone understand me_?" he shouted to the ceiling of his office. "Look it's not that I'm seeing Mary. She's gay: a lesbian in a committed relationship. But she and her girlfriend are moving across the country so if we're to play together, I need to follow them," explained Bob, "to Boston."

"Gay!" Fitz stood up. "I need to go."

"Wait…why?" cried Bob.

"To think," said Fitzwilliam whose head was pounding with thoughts, painfully so. Liz had a lesbian younger sister, an older smart, technical one—these had to be her siblings, though he had no idea what that meant for him. But if Charles and Bob knew the sisters, were involved with them in various way, could they, he and Liz, meet up again because of that connection?

* * *

It was Thursday morning and Liz did one last edit on her paper for her sexuality in literature seminar and then transmitted it to her professor. Just the final touches on her London paper and she would be done for the summer.

There had been no word about the grant-writing position though she checked her phone four or five times an hour. As if doing so would make an offer (or rejection) appear faster. The London course had been her favorite so Liz felt happiest about her final paper, only wanting that final, obsessive polishing after she finished her coffee and made breakfast.

 _Hey_ It was a text from Mary.

 _You're up early_ Replied Liz.

 _Packing to visit Bridget + Bob_ Texted Mary.

 _Fun weekend then_ Typed Liz.

 _Yeah, so Liz_ Texted her sister sounding very un-Mary-like.

 _Yes_

 _Your guy, that Fitz_

Liz looked at her phone and wondered why Mary was bringing up the subject. She thought it was an unspoken rule between all three sisters to not bring up past, old, dead-and-gone relationships. They did not discuss Jane's old ones, _why was Mary bringing up Fitz?_

 _Yes?_ Replied Liz.

 _What happened between you two? You only told me you broke up_

 _He betrayed me_ Typed Liz.

 _Ouch_ Typed Mary.

 _Yes!_

 _What did he do?_ It seemed Mary wanted the details. Liz had only ever said he betrayed her before.

 _He was a cheat, was married_

 _Ouch_ Said Mary again.

 _Yes_

 _You say his name's Fitz, but does he also go by Mason?_ Asked Mary.

Liz stared at that line of text, the black coffee making her stomach a mess as she had not yet made it the few steps to the kitchen to eat.

 _How do you know that?_ Asked Liz.

 _Well my friend Bob knows him_ Sent Mary

She did not know why that sentence would make her feel sick, but it did. Liz thought she might need to run to the bathroom to throw up.

 _Bob said Mason was voted one of Silicon Valley's most eligible bachelors last year_ Texted Mary

 _I don't believe it_ Typed Liz with shaking fingers.

 _Mary I saw his pregnant wife_ Continued Liz.

 _Oh_ Mary replied.

 _Maybe you need to question your new friend's integrity_ Texted Liz.

 _Oh, well I'll talk to him_ Typed Mary.

 _Do that_ texted Liz in frustration and confusion.

* * *

Jane was cutting it close, thought Liz. Finishing up school on Friday then packing, putting items in storage, and heading north for her internship on Monday. Liz had her own agenda—like sleeping—so did not think much about Jane and her activities. Her last paper had been turned in and sleep was Liz' over-riding concern.

It was not until the evening that she heard from her oldest sister. Jane was less inclined to text than Mary, so Liz was not surprised to wake from a nap on that ratty couch to see it was Jane calling.

"Hi, it's Jane."

"I can see that," laughed Liz, who then yawned.

"I'm back in Merriton with my stuff but will head to the Bay Area tomorrow," explained Jane.

"So you need a couch, right? I fear I'm currently occupying it, but you're welcome to it. I know the roomies won't mind. Char's been in a better mood and she likes you more than Mary."

"No, I have a place," said Jane.

"You do?" Liz moved a little, struggling to sit up and straightened her body and sharpened her mind.

"Yes, I do. Own room and everything so no icky twenty year-old couch," Liz could imagine the face Jane was making.

"That's great," began Liz who wanted more details.

Jane interrupted her. "Liz, I have news."

"What! What's happened? Mary? We had this weird text conversation, and I told her she needed to double-check on her new friend."

"Woah, Elisa, slow down. This is about you," tempered Jane.

"Wait, me?" Liz felt little bubbles form in her stomach.

"Yes, you. I had some news, or let's just call it some facts, to tell you," Liz thought she didn't recognize Jane's voice right then.

"That makes it sound like you're going to tell me about the birds and the bees," she tried to laugh off her uneasiness.

"Liz, my friend Charles is your Fitz' best friend."

Liz had managed to sit up straight, but she had to lie back down again as dizziness hit her.

"Okay," was all she managed.

"Your guy, Fitz, goes by Mason. They work together in the same company. The one where I'm to go to work on Monday." Jane used her best engineering lecturer voice.

"It can't be Jane," protested Liz.

"It is, I assure you. Charles told me Mason is not married. Unless being married to a business is married."

"Jane—I saw his wife. His _pregnant_ wife!" Her feelings all came in a rush again, her stomach turning over, burning and cramping.

"Charles says he's not married. And this friend Mason has been cut up over this woman that dumped him mysteriously months back."

"This can't be right," said Liz who was staving off tears though she felt sick. "He cheated on his wife with me!"

"He's not married, Liz. There's been a misunderstanding," insisted her sister who sounded sympathetic now.

"I saw her!" cried Liz.

"Liz, I am just trying to tell you the facts. Charles' friend, Mason Darcy, is not married, has never been married, doesn't have a girlfriend or a child."

"You're _both_ wrong," asserted Liz. "I think he's deceiving his friend. I have to go." Liz hung up, ran to the bathroom, and threw up.

She was not sure why she felt like a recalcitrant toddler who insisted on her point of view and would not listen when presented with a differing one. But she had seen that woman greet Benny that morning, and it had turned her whole world and her happiness upside down.

It had been devastating, that morning. Such a reiteration of all she had gone through with Kevin that Liz had known that here was the same situation again. To be second-tier in the eyes of a rich man. So she had run, run away to Aunt Alice, had limped through that miserable spring break and then attempted to get on with life. Though getting on had been difficult as she had discovered that day when they had gone to the party at C.W.'s where she had argued with Charlotte.

Liz realized that she had fallen in love with Fitz. To have Jane and Mary insist that Liz had made an awful mistake that morning made everything so much worse. Why was she always so ready to concede, think the worst of herself, of a situation? Was it like her mother somehow keeping Liz on the edge of ruin like she had with Mr. Bennet so she would always be needed? Jane was perfect, Mary would never conform, but Liz always tried to please her mother, but somehow she also got the idea that she would never succeed. Never please her mother no matter how much she tried. But she had kept trying. But was that some warped mother/daughter relationship she needed to untangle?

Liz was not certain how she could have mis-read that scene, what else was there to take away from that morning? Why was there a pregnant woman at Fitz' house? She did not want to think about it as she sat alone with herself that Friday evening. She did not want to allow anyone else to be right.

Jane texted her, of course, to check up on her but Liz did not respond. She was tired enough to reheat leftovers and crash and to not be bothered by her dreams. Saturday morning she moped around the house, tidied her desk, went to the laundromat, and avoided talking or texting anyone.

She and Charlotte were still on tenterhooks; Charlotte was not going to go home to Merriton as she usually did because Char was job-hunting. Liz had not yet heard that she had a job, but Char was going to remain in Palo Alto and continue to pound the pavement. But at some point on Saturday, Liz realized that Charlotte had not come home the previous night, and she thought then that her roommate was _dating_ -talking Raj K. rather than just _talking_ -talking to Raj K.

If she stopped moving or doing, her mind slipped towards thoughts of Fitz. Liz went over her memories of that scene. She was convinced it was Benny, but as she replayed it over and over in her mind, she allowed what Jane had said and what Mary had texted to have some merit. She saw a dog she knew run up to a person she did not. The person claimed ownership of the dog, but she thought about that, _that fact. That scene._

Did she know for certain that was Fitz' house? Was that his wife, was that little boy Fitz' son? Perhaps it was a neighbor's house: that was a possibility. She thought about all of the dogs she was hired to walk. Perhaps Fitz had been walking his neighbor's dog. Perhaps the lying he had done, the deception on his part had been to assert ownership of Benny, _guilt by association with a dog_. She tried to think back to when he had ever said that _Benny_ was his dog.

Liz realized that Fitz had never claimed that "Benny is my dog." He had only said Jack, that lanky-legged wolfhound was his. He had a sister who owned that tiny dog Cherie, but he never, ever had claimed that the Chihuahua was his own.

Fitz certainly liked the dog. She had been able to ascertain that fact. He had been eager that she like Benny too, but had it been part of his need, his eagerness for her to like him. _To like the man as well as the dog._ It was a difficult scene, a web, things were all interconnected, and it did not take place simply in one point in time because, she thought, that she was affected also because of her past. She was expecting to be mistreated.

It was as if she was waiting, because he was a rich business man, for him to treat her poorly—because that was what all rich business men did. He _must_ have deceived her in some way. So when she had spied a woman she _thought_ was his wife, she assumed that, _of course,_ it _was_ his wife without stopping to consider that maybe it was somebody else. Maybe it was a roommate or his sister. It was possible that his sister was pregnant; she did not know. Her head hurt considering all the possibilities.

But she did concede that she had made a terrible mistake if what Mary and Jane asserted was true. Not that it made it any easier to knock through the rest of her afternoon despite Ron's promise to cook after he returned home from work. Liz thought she would rather sleep though she was really lost in considering all of her past mistakes.

Admitting she had made a mistake did not mean she could change that past. She had ruined something, a relationship that had been working. Jane said her boyfriend Charles indicated his friend was cut up over the woman who dumped him. Apparently Fitz had cared for her and _she_ was the one who had torched the relationship, not the other way around.

Liz thought she would be sick again as she lay on her bed and considered how much she had messed up her life. You think you have enemies. You read books—English major—and they are full of villains and their exploits against the intrepid hero and yet so often the worst villain in your life is you. And not even that devil on your shoulder inciting you to behave wildly or take a big risk, but to make stupid mistakes that harm you in some way. Or to simply not to believe in yourself, to be like your mother and only be able to have other people validate you, and to not have a real sense of your own worth. If was why she still, even now, wished to maintain some semblance of friendship with Charlotte because Char had helped her to find some small sense of herself in high school despite feeling so lost in her family.

But she had recently decided to take charge of her life. Liz had decided to grow up. To feel empowered about what she was doing. Events in her past had hurt her; she had let them have a lot of play in how her life had unfolded since coming to college. But she was determined not to let past hurts influence how she moved forward. Liz had one more year in school, and she was determined to not let her past control her anymore.

But she had made such a mistake with Fitz. She considered that he must he must despise her. "Cut up" could not even begin to describe how he was feeling. What had she done? There surely could be no going back after she had treated him so brutally. She had made a horrible mistake for which there could be no going back. She had cut off ties with Fitz, she had run away. When he had asked to speak to her, she had refused. What must he think of her? He must hate her.

His letter had shown how displeased, how furious, even hateful he felt. Even though she had not wanted anything to do with it, and had tossed it in the trash, she could not help but recall words from it, and the overall tone of it: how bitter and incensed he was with her, a hatred of her even. She could not blame him if he wasn't still angry with her.

When she had seen him at the Faire she had that hope that with time it would get easier, and she could meet him with courtesy, could run into him without it hurting so bad. She thought that the reverse must be not be true for Fitz because it was she who had severed their relationship. Fitz had every right to hate her for making _him_ unhappy.

Liz thought it unlikely that there was any sort of restitution that she could offer though she also thought it would still be a difficult discussion. Her instinct still would be to run away rather than to confront him. To contact him seemed impossible and yet Jane indicated she was to work for his company. Jane would see him. Liz needed to prepare herself to hear more about him. Mary said her new band mate Bob knew him. Liz thought that maybe with time, there might be a day or some way to meet him again and to talk.

But she thought she could not blame him if he never wished to speak to her again.

* * *

"I resign."

Charles stood in the doorway of his office as Fitz shook his head to clear it, to clear the words, and hope he had not heard them correctly. The look on his friend's face was not a smile, but a rather worn and serious one and uncharacteristic of Charles Bingley. Fitz stood to wave his friend into his office and close the door behind him.

"You can't go, you just started here," said Fitzwilliam. "Why do you feel the need to resign? You…didn't find another job did you?"

"I'm in love with Jane. She needs this job more than I. No one here has been able to suggest a proper solution about us both working here, so I resign. That way she can work at Pemberley, and we need not break up."

"I don't want you to go, Charles," said Fitz. "I believe you've been a good fit for Pemberley Energy."

"You need to figure out a way for Jane to work here then," growled Charles.

"All this over a love affair?" Fitz growled back at him.

"This is no simple love affair, Mason. I'm in love with her. She is coming up this weekend and moving in with me for the summer. I flew her up for her birthday and, well, we really cemented things then. But I don't need to work and _she_ does. I'm willing to do anything for her, including resigning."

Fitzwilliam looked at his closest friend. "Okay, we'll make it work." He breathed rather dramatically as he leaned back in his ever-noisy chair. "I need, we need, to find her a new manager." He looked at Charles who sat patiently. "It may be that her work, the nature of her job would change with such a re-assignment."

"Jane needs the job and is brilliant. She will fit in anywhere here and can outshine anyone," said Charles. Fitzwilliam thought his friend pretty far gone.

"Okay, I'll talk to Mrs. P.," said Fitz, friend and CEO.

An arrangement was made that the new intern would work in the battery division with Jackson Carter and his team. Carter was happy to have the help, though it was not what Jane Bennet had been hired for or what the company had allocated on the budget. But if it made Charles Bingley happy and, in turn, convinced him to stay on board, Fitz agreed to the scheme.

* * *

A/N: keep reading. So you don't send me angry notes I am posting Chapter 33 in which they finally do meet up again. This was supposed to be Monday's chapter. I don't have chapter 34 polished and have no time to tackle it this weekend so my Monday posting may be late.


	33. They Can't Take That Away From Me

Chapter Thirty-Three

"They Can't Take That Away From Me"

 _The way your smile just beams;  
_ _The way you sing off key;  
_ _The way you haunt my dreams.  
_ _No, no, they can't take that away from me._

 _We may never, never meet again  
_ _On the bumpy road to love.  
_ _Still I'll always, always keep the memory of  
_ _The way you hold your knife;_

 _The way we danced 'til three;  
_ _The way you've changed my life.  
_ _No, no, they can't take that away from me._

Stanford Shopping Center has some of the most expensive retail lease space in the country. The price of the goods sold often reflected that rent. Liz avoided shopping there at all cost. Most of the shops in Atherton were wine merchants, and a few assorted, very expensive, restaurants—like **Chantilly** —so she often drove north, across the Atherton border to shop at the **Target** store. She had everything she needed there at a reasonable price for a college student.

Shopping on Sunday was never the best day as there were often whole families who went shopping together (the store was packed and busy), but she had a list and managed to get out with only one stuffed bag.

Barking caught her attention, and Liz looked to see Benny running at her excitedly, his leash trailing behind him. She was surprised to see the sandy-colored dog and wondered that he was out at that particular time of day and on a Sunday. She had parked at the far edge of the lot because there had been so many shoppers. Liz called to the dog, patting her legs. It was obvious that he recognized her, his tail wagged happily, friendly. He remained, however, out of reach as he danced back and forth, looking expectantly at her.

Liz gave over attempts at encouraging him to come to her and moved towards him attempting to catch him then. He danced backwards, turning to look back at her to ensure that she was following him and then he raced off, out of the parking lot. Liz's heart did a different sort of dance as he raced behind a car which pulled away from a curb—and pulled away from the dog missing him by only a few feet—as it drove away. She began to run after Benny then in an attempt to catch him lest he be hit.

Benny did not bark as he ran, but those little legs ran faster than she thought she had ever seen him use them. He ran down a short residential street and they passed that barrier from one city, a city of reason (where **Target** had been), to a city of opulence: Atherton, where suddenly there were gates, fences, where every property was a showcase, and the streets were a labyrinth.

But Benny knew his way around and took Liz on a side street. It was after they had turned and snaked around a corner that she stopped short. Benny ran ahead and turned to gaze at her, his little head cocked sideways to look at her to question why she was not continuing to follow and play in his game.

Liz stood still, her breath coming in gulps, unevenly, as she saw that Benny had led her to a group. Fitz sat on the ground holding Jack. Benny turned back now eagerly, looking between Fitz and Liz then he trotted up to Liz and sat in front of her, happy he had led her on a merry chase, convinced she would praise him for his efforts.

Cherie wagged her entire little body at seeing Liz, pulling at her leash to greet her as well. Liz' eyes danced around that grouping there on the ground. Her heart felt constricted as she looked not at Fitz' eyes but at Jack on his lap; her lips felt numb and were growing cold, her breathing did not calm despite the fact she had stopped running.

She turned away uncertain, but Fitz called to her, "don't go." The bag in her sweaty palm swung and whipped around as she turned. "Jack is sick," his voice sounded desperate. She stopped as his words penetrated a barrier inside, allowed her to feel surprise, frustration, and consternation at seeing Fitz sitting on the ground. There are no curbs in Atherton; he sat on the dirt, and the dog was pulled on his lap as best he could fit.

"He's sick?" she asked, turning back to him.

"He refuses to walk," said Fitz, looking up at her, seeking her eyes. "We set out for our walk, but he won't continue; he walked a street or two at first, but now he refuses to move."

"Can you carry him?" she asked, her concern for the dog overriding everything else. Liz took in a big breath, blew it out with her lips pursed and felt her breathing and heartbeat calm. She bit her lips.

"He probably weighs one hundred and fifty pounds, but I can carry him. I tried to carry him, but Cherie keeps wrapping the leash around my ankles and tripping me up. She has been no help at all. And then Benny escaped." He looked her straight in the eyes. "Will you help me?" he asked.

"Yes." She leaned down to collect Benny's leash and walked tentatively closer to examine Jack who lay as bundled in Fitzs arms as well as an a one hundred fifty pound Irish wolfhound can be bundled in a man's arms. Jack did not look very different; he looked at her with those sad eyes. However, his tail didn't wag when she came up and knelt down beside him taking his head in her hands, and looking into his eyes.

"What's up, old man?" she asked him. His eyes told her that he was happy that she was there. She fiddled with his ears and murmured to him and soothed him.

"I think I can carry him home if you can take Cherie and Benny," Fitz said looking at her again. She was right there; he was right there; they were inches away from each other for the first time since that horrible luncheon with its tension and their angry texting to one another. Fitz had no doubt that his dog was seriously ill as he handed over the little Yorkie's leash. "He is a handful and bulky."

"We will manage," she answered. He eased the dog off of his lap, stood, then bent back down to gather Jack into his arms and they set off.

"They are only supposed to live seven or eight years," he began.

"I know, the larger the dog, the fewer the years you get with them," said Liz.

"He is seven," Fitz said again. "His vet has often remarked that heart problems are the biggest issue with wolfhounds. I wonder if he's not had the equivalent of a dog heart attack, just now, as we were walking."

"I suppose it's entirely possible," she answered. Fitz was obviously heartbroken about Jack, but she did not have the strength to buck him up and be soothing. She felt more like crying than she did like delivering some profound advice about facing this like a man or speaking of the sacred bonds between man and dog. She did not feel like a rock; she felt more like a sponge.

So they walked, a man with his probably dying dog, his face ashen, and a young woman walking beside him with two smaller dogs on their leads. A professional dog walker with tears in her eyes. Liz focused on walking, on her breathing, on Benny and Cherie, on this moment.

The two dogs kept looking up at Jack; obviously they knew something was up as they trotted along. Fitz could not carry his burden the entire way home without stopping to sit. They did not talk while they walked, but on a break he sat and again cradled Jack in his arms. Liz sat next to him; the other two sat a little ways away but cuddled together as if finding some sympathy together.

"It's Sunday," he said looking at her.

"Yes. It was an atrocious day to shop, but it's been my only free day this past week to get out. Finals ended and then I needed to catch up on sleep. I'm sure my perishable stuff shall spoil."

"I'll replace anything that spoils," he said. "I appreciate your help."

"It's for Jack," she replied.

"I was on the edge of ruin just then," he said.

"You didn't sound happy at all," she sighed. "I…I know a vet that makes house calls," she offered. "She's really good."

"Thanks. I had not… _thought_ that far." There was silence while he caught his breath, and Liz leaned over and fiddled with Jack's ears. "You," then silence again. "You disappeared…" he said at last. It was not an accusation this time, for which she was thankful.

"I did," she answered tentatively. "I was hurt. I blocked your number, and I wanted to forget you."

"Why?" he asked gently.

"I thought you were married and cheating on your wife. You were simply another man just looking for action. No woman likes to think that she's merely a distraction for a man who thinks his pregnant wife is ugly and fat, is no longer beautiful. _Second-tier_. I didn't want to think you were that sort of man. I tried to forget you entirely."

"Yvonne," he said as comprehension dawned. "You thought Yvonne was my wife."

"Yes," she answered as she stroked Jack's ears. "Benny got out one day. That Day. The day you were supposed to take me to Vegas." Benny had his head on his paws but he perked up at the sound of his name and looked over at her in expectation. When she did not look back, he lay back down again. "He found me and led me home, to your house, I think. It was a merry chase, like today. I could never get a hold of him, and I wanted to ensure he was safe."

"That is very like you," said Fitz.

"So I followed him to the fence of your house and he snuck through and ran to greet a woman. And what was I to think? We had not talked much. We did not know each other very well: it was just three weeks," she looked at him apologetically but almost with tears in her eyes, "we still don't know each other very well. It was obvious that she was expecting a child, and soon, and it was obvious that Benny was very happy to see her and to see a little boy come out and greet his mother."

"You saw Derek too then," his face was pale, his eyes pained and sad as she spoke.

"We didn't know each other very well. It was all passion, all, in the moment," Liz looked away.

He felt wounded to hear her say that. He felt as if he had bared his soul in some ways. This attraction to her had been far more than just the physical. There had been an admiration of Liz, his Liz. Does one truly account for what love means for an individual. How do you account for being in love or for what the attractions of another person mean to you? She was witty and intelligent and beautiful, and there had been something about her from the start. He wanted to interrupt her right then to protest there was more for him from the very first day.

"Yvonne is my housekeeper/cook," it felt like he could not defend himself right then though he did not know why. He did feel he could explain factually. "She lives in the in-law unit in the back with her husband who travels a great deal. She was, as you noticed, expecting a child back in March."

"I think we need to get Jack back on the road," Liz said without commenting on his little speech. They stood and continued on their way again. "Mary, my sister, texted me this week," she said suddenly. "She asked me what happened between us, and I said you betrayed me," said Liz though her voice sounded stilted as she spoke. "I explained my issues and she said her new friend claimed to know you, called you Mason like C.W. did, and insisted that you are single," her voice was uneven.

"And my other sister Jane said the same thing," continued Liz. "I could not make heads or tails of you. I could not make heads or tails of what went on between us. I still cannot trust what had gone on between us. What I had with you and what they was telling me. But I also realize what a horrible mistake I made. I made an assumption that morning that was ruinous."

"Everyone knows me as Mason," he said. He had waited to see if she had anything further to say, but she had paused. "The entire world knows me as Mason Darcy. It is only my parents who ever called me Fitz. My given name is Fitzwilliam. My cousin Bob ribs me about it," he explained.

"Fitzwilliam," she said.

"I was named for my father who had an odd idea of how to name me after him. I was not to be William, Jr. I was to be Fitzwilliam." He looked at her, "and I hated it."

"Fitz," she said, "as in 'son of.' I am an English major, you know."

"Yes, I know," he said. "I learned very early on to hate my name. I was probably in the first grade when I adopted my middle name which was common and popular. I have never liked my given first name," he said. "And then I ran into this young woman walking a group of dogs and my first instinct was to introduce myself as Fitzwilliam. I had never done that before. It didn't come out as Fitzwilliam, it came out as Fitz."

They reached his house to which Liz had been that disastrous morning when she had followed Benny and saw him running to the loving arms of a pregnant lady. They walked over to the driveway, and she could take in his house in more detail.

"I am thankful I left the gate open when I went out," he replied as he walked up the driveway.

The house had not looked large, was very proportionate. But then, Liz considered how small her own condo was—and it was attached to another, and their joint building looked small in her mind's eye as they approached his home.

"We can go in through the garage," he said. "I have a good grip on Jack, can you enter the code to open the doors? 91074," he called out. "Then the # key."

"Yes, of course," she said. She managed the feat. The two dogs in her hand were straining at their leads to get under the rising garage door, but she held tight in case they veered away. Liz did not want to have to round them up.

"I am a bachelor right now," he said as they stepped into the garage. "Yvonne is still on maternity leave."

"You said she lived here?" Liz asked.

"Yes, she and her husband, Mike, have lived with me for over seven years in what is probably meant to be an in-law unit on the property," he answered as he lead her through the garage to the inside door. She noted his BMW parked there along with two other cars.

"Property!" she called out with probably the first note of amusement between them.

"Can you get the door?" he asked. Liz jumped in front of him to open the door to the house.

"I am going to put him in the guest room though he usually just sleeps in the family room," said Fitz as she waited for him to maneuver the dog through the door. They went first through a mud room or anteroom then into a huge kitchen and dining area that expanded into a family room. There was an entire wall of glass along the back part of the house which looked out onto a green expanse outside. Liz stopped to look at everything.

"What shall I do with the other two?" she called. Cherie and Benny waited at her feet and appeared to be listening to Fitz and Liz, their ears pricking up when they heard their names.

"You can take them off leash," he said as he walked away from her with Jack in his arms, disappearing around a corner. "There is a dog door; Benny can find his way back to Yvonne."

Liz knelt down to unhook the two dogs who then turned frantic circles around her feet. Emotions prickled around inside of her as she looked at the size of what she thought her mother would characterize as a 'casual' living area. Her mother, who had been inside the Merriton Manor house whenever she could engineer it, loved to speak of the delights and design of its rooms. Liz thought that her entire condo would probably fit in this 'casual living' area.

She turned to look for Fitz, or Fitzwilliam, but he was gone. She moved tentative feet to where she had last spied him, and saw a wide hallway coming off of the family room and walked up there. A staircase was on one side, going both up and down. Apparently he had two other floors. Then she recalled his discussing his workout room, which must be in his basement. It was probably not a grimy, old, retrofitted basement, but was just as beautiful as the rest of this house with its designer-picked colors, all warm sand and soft grays.

Liz walked forward to what must be the front door and saw she had gone too far. There was a formal living room and a dining room at the front of the house. She wondered if she was supposed to go upstairs or down the side-hall which lay opposite the stairs? How did Fitz not get lost in his own house?

"Fitz?" she called out. "I'm lost."

"Here," said a voice from her floor, and she turned to move down the hallway. She ended up in a study, dark with wooden shelves lining its walls, and Liz recalled he had once, in happier times, sent her a picture of Jack lying at his feet in that room. But that was still not where he and his dog were located. Back-tracking once more, she found the door to a bedroom which had been done in cool grays, but a little too dark and chilly, she thought.

Fitz sat on the bed with Jack beside him. He was stroking the dog's head.

"I can call about that vet," she said.

"Please do," he replied, turning to look briefly at her with a small smile.

Liz realized she did not have Vet Heather's number. It had been Brad who had called about Morgan, but it was Ron who knew about the vet so Liz texted both of her roommates. Brad returned her text with the number, and she called. Vet Heather said she was free and would be there in ten minutes.

Liz repeated the vet's words. She walked back around to the side of the bed and waited to catch his eyes. "I'll go now."

"Won't you stay?" he said looking away from Jack up at her and meeting her gaze. "I would like it if you would stay. Hold my hand if nothing else." He briefly held his hand up before laying it back down on his dog. "I realized a while ago that I don't think I was good at asking for things. Or maybe I was not good at conversation. So I am asking, please stay."

"I will stay for a while," she agreed. She went to sit on a chair that was in a corner of the room. They sat in silence waiting for the vet to show up, which by the clock was twelve minutes, but which seemed far longer as they sat in silence, sitting a sort of vigil. Fitz contemplated his companion of the last seven years. Liz sat and watched the pair on the bed and contemplated the last four months.

Vet Heather texted when she had arrived, and Liz relayed that to Fitz. He asked her to fetch the veterinarian. "Do you remember the code?" She did.

 _I hope I don't get lost,_ was her thought as she walked out. She retraced her steps through the kitchen to the garage rather than attempting to find her way out the front door and back again. Heather was waiting by her car.

"Friend of yours?" asked Heather. Liz felt like she had no clue how to answer that question so she simply nodded briefly. They traced her steps back to the cold gray room.

"How are you, you old guy?" asked the vet. She was obviously addressing Jack and not Fitz. The vet's focus and attention was on the dog and not the man despite both being on the bed. Jack's tail did not thump nor did he make any sort of greeting. "I'll look at him while you step out," Vet Heather still did not look at the man, but only had eyes and hands for the dog.

Fitz disentangled himself from the dog, his actions were his compliance. He walked to the door where Liz had stayed to watch Heather treating Jack. He stood in front of her, and she took a step backwards through the doorway before she turned out into the hallway. He stopped beside her, as if he was worried she was going to leave, to escape.

"I don't know where we should wait," she said.

"Family room," he replied, and took a tentative step then looked to see if she would follow. She did. They walked out to that big open space; he sat down on the couch in front of the windows. Liz sat on the couch opposite.

"I don't think I've had him to the vet in a year," guilt and concern and pain were on his face as he looked at her. "He's probably dying, and I've neglected him."

She did not know what to say so she said nothing.

"I'm just so wrapped up in other things," he grumbled. "Been too busy. Been too angry. Been too selfish. Liz? If she thinks I need to put him down, I don't think that I can make that decision," a spasm crossed his face.

"You need to wait and see what she says," answered Liz. It was meaningless advice. Just something to say.

He moved a little on the couch as if restless, and then sought her eyes. "Did I tell you how my father died?" he asked.

"No. I've been able to tell that it's haunted you. That it's been difficult for you. In many ways, you talked about your trials, coping with your sister. But no, you did not discuss your father's death."

"My father killed himself, Liz. He stepped in front of a train." His hands gripped the cushions of the couch tightly as he spoke. "He decided that he could not cope with the grief of losing my mother. So he killed himself. He could not see that there were two of us still to care for, to love, my sister and I. _He left us_."

"I'm so sorry, Fitz, that must have been so difficult, that makes it even harder," Liz felt that the mechanical device she had clamped around her heart sometime after she and Fitz had parted was unlocking, opening up to reveal her heart again, leaving her exposed, but also letting her be sympathetic and kind, and opening her up to other emotions.

"I've felt so abandoned. As you pointed out once: I got a dog _then_ because I need not worry about him ever leaving me."

"But then I abandoned you, that's your point," she said, feeling hurt suddenly, shifting her legs. She felt ready to rise and leave.

He was ready to argue with her; Fitz did not want her to go. "Liz, please. Yes, your disappearing did bring up that sense of abandonment, but it triggered something that was already there, lying beneath the surface, and entirely my fault for not coping or dealing with. I was angry with my father in the way he dealt with my mother's passing. I dealt with your disappearance only with anger. I am tired of being angry," his voice broke, there were tears at the corners of his eyes, "I fear you will walk away in ten or twenty minutes, and I'll never see you again, and I can't tell you how important you were to me those weeks we had together and how crushing it was to lose you and how much I still want you in my life."

"I was in love," she said, her own voice heavy and sorrowful but a little surprised by her words, "and then so wounded that I'm not sure I can come back from that. It was such a mess; I messed up but I am not sure, how can you make restitution for past mistakes? How can you forgive me when I have not yet forgiven myself for making such a horrible mistake?"

He wanted to argue that it was only a fiction of events, that it had been things outside of both of their control, but he did not. Outside circumstances can still play multiple roles in your life, wreak havoc. He waited to see if she had more to say.

"You were the bright spot in my day," she continued. "I looked forward to seeing you _every_ morning." She was not looking at him, but she still looked tense as if needing to flee. "I had crushingly long days and evenings, and I would sigh and think _I will see Fitz again tomorrow._ You were candy to a kid, you were desert. Thinking about Vegas was the only thing that got me through my week of finals and papers and revisions and projects." She finally looked at him, her eyes black with sadness and despair. "I know I have my own issues. Once you touch a hot stove, you learn not to reach out again."

They stared at each other, his hands gripping the edge of the couch cushions as her own grip on the armrest made her knuckles white.

"I admit I just was waiting for you to do something to hurt me," she confessed. "That's unfair in a relationship. I think I really expected it. How messed up is that?"

"I would never do anything to hurt you, Liz. I remember sitting at your kitchen table hoping there would never be any fear you had that I couldn't help you with. How was I to know that I would be part of that fear?"

"I guess it is hard when I feared _you_ ," she answered. Then they sat in silence and stared at each other and wondered how to go on.

"He's dying," said Vet Heather and interrupted their thoughts. "He has dilated cardiomyopathy—an enlarged heart—which is common with wolfhounds." The vet stood looking concerned and sympathetic and yet a doctor who would not pull punches and would be truthful. She explained everything.

Fitz groaned and put a hand up to ruffle his hair, making it stand on end. "What should I do for him?" asked Fitz.

"Make him comfortable," said the vet. "I can put him down, but it is Sunday and the facility where I have rights is not open on weekends. So it is not an option today. I think your best bet is to make him comfortable."

"Okay," his word was clipped. He stood then, walked up to her, held out a hand: the business man coming into play. "Thank you."

"I am sorry," Heather said in return as she shook the hand. "Just know that all dogs go to heaven. He will be waiting for you, get there ahead of you and make it a good place for you. Call or text any time," she said, "but I'll come by tomorrow to check on him in any case."

"Thank you. I'll walk you out," replied Fitz.

"I'll go see Jack," said Liz, who stood. Jack lay breathing slowly. He was not very responsive but did seem grateful that someone was there. She crawled onto the bed, moved the pillows behind her and lifted his head up onto her lap. "You are a good dog, Jack," she told him. "You have taken good care of Fitz, Fitzwilliam Mason…" She smoothed his ears, petted his muzzle gently with a finger. "You have been a very good dog. It's okay, you're okay."

She had not asked Heather if he was in pain or not. She wondered if the enlarged heart meant there was pain or if it simply meant reduced blood flow and organs that failed. With some large dogs she knew the weight of their bodies seemed to bother them. Prince Rudolph always seemed eager to lie down again, get off of his paws. Jack was even larger than Prince Rudolph.

Fitz came back and seemed surprised to find her on the bed with Jack. He almost expected her to be packing to leave. He hesitated as though he was going to come sit next to her but then went to sit on the chair.

"Can we start properly?" she asked. "Introduce ourselves, our full names?"

"Darcy," he answered. "Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy," and gave her an awkward wave with his hand.

She thought about the return address on the letter he had sent all those month ago.

"Yours is Bennet," he continued.

"Yes," she nodded.

"I do wish to know if your given name is Elizabeth, though," he asked. She smiled, and Fitz did not understand the smile. She had one which might be a yes, a no, or simply one which showed amusement.

"No, it's not," she still smiled.

"It's not!" he raised his eyebrows. "I had the wrong name on your plane ticket then."

"Oh! I suppose I never considered your being out the cost of that ticket. I'm sorry," said Liz.

"Look, that's not the point. I can afford the cost of the ticket." He leaned forward a little. "I really want to know what your given name is," he asked.

"I, like all of my sisters, have an Italian name. I used to like my name, but like you I hit a point in life where I despised it, so I insisted that everyone use Liz."

"What is it?" he pressed.

"Elisa, it is quite similar to Liz, I know. But how can I explain that when Nonna died, I didn't want to have anything to do with my Italian roots anymore? Then when my bad relationship occurred, one of the reasons he threw at me was because I was too dark, too Italian, too _foreign_. So I've not liked my own name myself." Her face went from light to dark in the telling of her tale.

"What's your full name?" he asked.

"Elisa Vittoria Bennet," she said in a sad voice.

"It's beautiful," he said with a powerful note to his voice.

"I've considered," she began, looking down at Jack and not over at Fitz, "that we began wrong. It was all attraction, physical attraction…"

"Liz!" he interrupted, but then stopped.

"My past and screwed up outlook meant that we very quickly headed down the wrong street together. Though it's easy to say these things in hindsight, isn't it?" She looked up at him then. He was still not sure if this was simply a sort of post-deal, dry, business discussion or debrief about why a deal fell through, or if they might be able to attempt to revive what he thought had been a good thing.

"A couple of times I've thought we should just play a game of twenty questions and ask the basics of each other," she continued. Her hands never stopped stroking Jack's head. "We talked about things, you and I, that didn't really matter, but we would not share each other's last names. That is just wrong. How can you sleep with somebody and not know his last name? How can you be so intimate with somebody?" She was looking at him without looking away or being embarrassed.

"Twenty questions then?" he suggested. "You think we need to ask each other twenty questions?"

"Yes," her answer was strong.

"Agreed," his was her equal. "Is your sister's name Ariana Jane Bennet?"

"What! Yes!" she could not help the surprise in her voice. "She only uses it on official documents. She's always been Jane."

"My very good friend, Charles, also works for my company and is, I believe, dating your sister," he braved a wider smile. She, however, shut down.

"I don't know if I can go on, Fitz," she said. Her face, her eyes were ashen and guarded.

"What! No! I did _not_ mean to make you uncomfortable," he leaned forward. "I thought you would find it interesting and maybe a little funny."

"That's weird in a too-close-to-home sort of way, but the cat's out of the bag now, I guess. Maybe we should only ask one question an hour, then," her face and posture were still spooked, and he feared she would leave though she had not mentioned that for a while.

"Is that one each, per hour? Or one question per hour?" he asked.

"I think one each per hour," she clarified. "I guess that means I have to commit to staying for twenty hours?" Liz seemed even more wound up. He leaned back to try not to appear so intimidating.

"No, there are no rules, Liz. Except, maybe I don't want you to ever fear me. To be afraid of asking questions. Your question?" He prompted.

"Was Lauren really just a colleague or did you have lunch with her because you thought about dating her?" She had a spark in her eyes as she asked, but he thought that it was a question which had bothered her since that luncheon.

"Ouch," he said. "You are not pulling any punches. I admit our luncheons were partly work and partly because of some interest. But I couldn't get over thinking of you, and we only had four lunches in total."

"So you lied when you texted me that day after we saw each other?"

"I did. I was desperate to get you to talk to me. I needed to understand your position, and I'd only had ten lines of texts from you to make sense of all of this. To make sense of why you made me such a happy man one day and despised me the next. I apologize."

"Is that all I've sent you since that day?" Liz was surprised at the lack of communication on her part when it was portrayed that way.

"Yes," he answered.

"Is that our questions for the hour?" She felt like breathing a sigh of relief.

"Yes," he nodded. "What time is it?"

"I have no idea," she said. "I've no idea where my things are. I'm sure none of my perishables are good. I don't even recall putting anything down!" She almost felt like crying it had been such a rollercoaster of an afternoon.

"It's been a weird day," he said, slumping back in the chair.

"You're not married?" she asked with a rather louder voice than she wanted.

"No," he answered in kind.

"You don't have a son?"

"No."

"And you don't have a baby?"

"No."

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"I suspect it is time to eat. I've been eating out a lot." He ran fingers through his hair, and Liz watched him as weariness and sorrow and exhaustion hit him.

"Do you have any food in the house?" she asked.

"We could send out," he said, looking up at her.

"Do you have any food in the house, at all?" she asked again.

"I've not been very good about getting to the grocery story. I can go look," he began to straighten himself up in his chair.

"I recall that you can't cook. Why don't I go look? Come sit with Jack. I think I bought some asparagus which might still be good."

"We can't just have asparagus for dinner," he countered, slumping back in the chair.

"Let me see what I can do," she said, lifting Jack's head gently back onto the bed and standing up. She considered holding out her hand to pull Fitz up, but resisted.

"Okay," he said. He stood. "Thanks. For looking. For staying another hour."


	34. Until the Real Thing Comes Along

Chapter Thirty-four

"Until the Real Thing Comes Along"

 _With all the words, dear, at my command  
_ _I just can't make you understand  
_ _I'll always love you baby  
_ _Come what may  
_ _My heart is yours  
_ _What more can I say?_

 _I'd lie for you  
_ _I'd cry for you  
_ _I'd lay my body down and die for you  
_ _If that isn't love, it will have to do  
_ _Until the real thing comes along_

Liz puttered out of the room attempting to remember what she had done with her purse and bag of items. They were neither on the couch in the family room nor on the kitchen table. She walked back into the little mud room which was outside of the garage. There was a built-in bench on one side opposite what she assumed was a coat closet. Her things were there.

The asparagus, though not having been chilled, she thought would do. Her lettuce would not. She had purchased some new clothes as she had hoped to hear about her internship soon. There was also a bag of chocolate chips as she had thought to indulge in some post-finals baking. She threw away the lettuce, washed the asparagus and got it into the fridge. Liz left the chips in her bag.

His kitchen was a cook's dream. There was a center island, huge with seating for four along one edge. The sink looked out onto the back yard and had a much better view than her condo sink did. A magnificent eight-burner range was in pride of place as though people could sit on those barstools at the center island and watch the cook perform. The refrigerator and freezer were the high-end built-in type which matched the cabinetry. They were, however, quite empty.

Fitz really did not have much in the way of food. He had cream (which she suspected was for his coffee), some eggs, a little cheese, some butter, and basic supplies like flour and sugar but Liz found some dried pasta. He must like bacon and eggs as he had a pound of bacon as well.

She ended up making a sort of cream sauce, chopping the bacon up fine and throwing that in to be a pretend carbonara sauce as well as contributing her wilty asparagus to it and throwing it on top of pasta. There was a can of peaches she found tucked away as well and added that as a side dish. She went to call him.

"How is Jack doing?" Liz asked as she stood in the doorway. Fitz had taken over her position on the bed resting on the pillows.

"He's the same," he replied.

"Dinner's ready. I had to make do," she said. "I thought about making shortcake to go with the peaches but admit to being tired. I can only work so many miracles."

"Shortcake! The fact that you made dinner is incredible, Liz. Thank you. Thank you for staying, for being here, for everything."

Once settled at the kitchen table, he was even more appreciative for the dinner and surprised that she had not presented him with scrambled eggs which was all he had anticipated.

They were both lost in thought at dinner. Perhaps it was because the food was such a comfort after the trauma of the afternoon. There is something about a shared meal and a warm belly that is consoling.

"I do have wine," he said as though coming back to consciousness after they had made it halfway through their plates. "Do you mind if I open a bottle?"

"Not at all," she said.

He got up then looked at her. "Actually, do you want a tour?"

"A tour?" Liz was still lost in thought or a food coma.

"I recall you once giving me a tour of your house. I thought you might like a tour of my house. We can go down to the wine cellar to get a bottle, but I can show you the downstairs while we're there then come back and finish dinner."

"Alright," she said. "You have a wine cellar though? Is it next to your workout room?" there was definitely amusement in her voice.

"Yes," he answered. They pushed their chairs back, and he led the way to where the stairs went up and down. They traced down them.

The house definitely had a designer hand to it. It had been done in creams, golden sands and cool grays throughout. She was not sure what she was expecting but had this idea it would not be a converted, dark and enclosed basement but a lower level, another level of living space, so she was a little disappointed that the bottom of the stairs was a little hallway.

Fitz turned and indicated, "there's a bedroom here."

The bedroom looked pristine and unused, and she asked if it had been used _ever_. He said it had not, though it did have a bed.

"How many bedrooms do you have?" Liz asked as they stood side by side in the doorway.

"Six," Fitz answered.

"You have a six bedroom house? Do you really need that many?" she asked.

"I suppose not. There were two of us for many years. And I had my aunts visiting occasionally so there was need for two others."

"And they would both visit at the same time?" she turned to catch his eyes. She had the sense that visits from aunts were not pleasant.

"They would," he affirmed in the sort of voice that made her feel sympathetic. "When I bought it, it didn't seem so big and extravagant, but this room has never been used."

"Did you have like, somebody design it for you?"

"There was an interior decorator who chose colors and furniture for me," admitted Fitzwilliam.

"There's just a little too, _too_ ," she faltered, at a loss for words. "A little too showcase and not enough lived in. All the colors match. When I walk into a bedroom I want it to have personality, yet everything here matches. Maybe this one should be the blue bedroom, and Jack's bedroom should be the green bedroom and whatever ones you have upstairs should be the yellow bedroom or the white bedroom."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

"What else is down here?" she asked, curious.

"Workout room, the lounge, and I have a movie theater," he answered.

"A movie theater!" She said incredulously. "Like a screen and seats and a popcorn machine?"

"I don't have a popcorn machine. But it does have a screen and seats," he admitted.

They walked out into a huge open area, again a little more indicative of a basement area when she was expecting something fancier, but there was definitely designer furniture there, however there was a pool table and a foosball table.

"So is that like a hold-out from you being a teenager?" she asked pointing at the foosball table.

"Actually no, it makes a great activity for company parties; the designer suggested I include it."

"Oh!" cried Liz, "company parties!"

"The workout room is over here," he moved to the back of the area.

"Did you install the workout room, and that's your treadmill, huh?"

"The treadmill is mine, but the room was here too. There's a sauna as well."

"Have you kept up with the mornings?" she asked. They were again standing shoulder to shoulder in a doorway. He turned to look at her again.

"No," he answered. "I looked for you for a couple of days. And then, in despair, I gave up running in the mornings."

"I'm sorry," she said again. Guilt hit her again, and she looked down at her feet. Guilt for misinterpreting a scene and taking their relationship on a crash course straight into a mountain top from an altitude of ten thousand feet of wonderful.

They walked back the other way. The wine cellar was entirely fronted with glass and you could see all the requisite wine cubbies and shelves. There was a refrigerator for those items which required it, like sparkling wine or champagne. He went in, holding the door open for her, and she followed.

"I think your wine cellar is bigger than my bathroom," she said. "Do you really drink that much wine?"

"I bought the house this way. Whoever owned the house before had this installed. But so long as I buy a bottle or two I keep it down here. Red or white?"

"I suppose we should have white, but I think I want red," she answered. He chose a bottle.

"The lounge is at the end, with a terrace opening off of it," he said as they walked back out with the bottle of red wine in-hand.

"Lounge! That sounds like a bar," she blurted out then wished she had not. She felt stupid and ashamed still.

"I never thought of it that way, it's just what it has always been called. It's been more Georgie's realm than mine with the theater and the game tables. It has worked out well to use for socializing because of the terrace and the bar," he stopped at the bar which probably had more counter space than her kitchen. The lounge was roughly L-shaped and had appropriate seating.

"I can see. Do you have frequent parties at your house?" She asked.

"No, but if we're in need of a place for a company party I often hosted one," he answered as they stood beside the bar and looked across the austere and clean room towards two sets of French doors.

"Has it been another hour, can we play twenty questions again?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"So what do you do, Mr. Rich Business guy?" she was a little flippant, a little defensive—she knew that as she asked.

"I thought I went first," but Fitz was smiling as he spoke.

"You can go first," Liz replied, not certain if he was jesting since she was feeling uneven just then.

"No, I'm fine. Come look at the terrace." He put the bottle of red wine on top of the bar, walked to the doors, unlocked them, and they walked outside. "There's a little patio out here; the evening is quite lovely."

"I can see. It's a nice evening to be outside," she agreed as she followed him. "Far nicer than going to a party in March or April when you need heaters to entice people outside. So, what do you do Mr. Business Man?"

They stood and looked at a little water feature on the patio and then over at some teak furniture which had faded to silver. "I think I've some cushions for the chairs which are in storage somewhere." He looked at her, "sorry, Pemberley Energy. I have a company in an alternative energy space. We do some innovating, but mostly licensing. I inherited the company from my father and my aunt. I co-own it with my cousin. There's a lot more I could tell you," he said.

"That's a start, thank you. I'm sure we could talk more as we finish dinner," she said.

"So you mentioned parties," he looked at her. "My turn, did you ever date C.W. Collins?"

"Ouch," she stared back. "You're right, ouch." Apparently that luncheon had brought up questions for both of them. "No. I met him at a party because my roommate, Brad, received an invitation and my other roommate, Charlotte, heard about it and dragged me along.

"Then C.W. started calling and I kept saying _no,"_ she went on. "Then C.W. called Charlotte and Char said _yes_. He said he would only help find Charlotte a job if I would come to lunch too. Which is why I went to lunch every Friday with them. He would ask me out for a date at the end of every luncheon. And after that Friday, after you and I saw each other, I never went again."

"I admit I'm jealous. I was very jealous that day," said Fitz.

"I think I was rather jealous that day too," she said. "But I also thought you were cheating on your wife with somebody else." She leaned against the back of one of the chairs, seeking support. "Fitz…Fitzwilliam," she said. "I'm sorry that I ever thought that. It has just been a disaster between us. I saw that woman pick up Benny, and I thought she was your wife. I was wrong." Liz reached out a hand to touch his shoulder and his breath caught at her touch. "I'm sorry I ever thought that or suspected that."

He reached over to touch her hand then pulled it from his shoulder but delicately sandwiched it between his two.

"I wanted you to like me. I knew you would if I was good to dogs, and if I had a good dog. I never once corrected your assumption that Benny was my dog, and not my housekeeper's dog. Such a fiction on my part Liz…Elisa Vittoria—what seemed a deception on my part and yet it almost ruined things between us. I'm sorry that it led you to think I was ever cheating on a wife I didn't have."

He transferred her hand to just one of his and gripped it firmly then.

"I'm sorry that you ever thought that," continued Fitzwilliam. "I think, however, _that_ is a conversation for maybe hour fourteen, that whatever you thought, your first instinct was not to call me, but to run. And shall we finish dinner?"

"Yes," she answered.

They walked upstairs holding hands. "I fear our dinner is cold now," she commented.

"We need to check on Jack too," he said. Jack seemed much the same. They went to finish their dinner which was warm not cold as she feared. He fetched glasses and opened the bottle of wine. He poured them each a generous measure of wine. "Drink only as much as you wish," he said when she looked concerned.

Like the beginning of their meal, they went back to being quiet and contemplative as they finished as much as they wished of their meal and sipped the wine.

"You go back to Jack," she offered, taking a long sip of her wine. "I will clean up. I 'm used to doing such things."

"Thank you," he said again.

Apparently Fitz had two dishwashers and Liz was not sure if they had different purposes, so she ended up hand-washing everything rather than going in to ask. It gave her time to think about everything they had discussed so far. How little decisions or misunderstandings had led to such a huge misunderstanding. That what had been happiness and contentment between them had become pain and misery and hurt.

She thought about what she had first said to him that afternoon, that she was so wounded that she was not sure if she could come back, recover. That had been in response to his declaring how much he wanted her in his life. Perhaps in the few hours that they had been together and talked (and it had not been easy discussions with the added burden of a dying dog), maybe now he did not want her in his life.

He had left the bottle on the table but taken his wine glass with him. After she had done everything she could in that large and beautiful kitchen where the light through the windows was starting to fade as the sun fell below the horizon, she took her own wine glass, and the bottle, and made her way to Jack's bedroom.

Fitz was sitting with Jack; he no longer had the dog's head on his lap. "Jack does not seem comfortable in that position," he explained. "He's about the same."

"I think it's just sitting and waiting now. It's likely to be a long night," she said.

"I think it's been another hour, Liz."

"I agree," she nodded.

"I said that there are no rules," he began. "That you didn't have to stay, but this is my question: I would like you to. Will you stay and help me to see Jack through to the end?" His face became one of heartbreak as some tears fell. "I think you understand, Liz, there's a lot I have racked up in this damn dog!" Again his voice was not his own, his usual tone, but broken and sorrowful.

"My question," she asked without answering his, "after everything we've talked about today, in the last few hours, do you still want me in your life?"

"Yes!" he cried.

"Then yes," she answered, "I'll stay."

"Thank you," he said. She took up her position in her chair, and he stayed on the bed. They sat sipping their wine as they sat in silence, sat a vigil over the dog. When they finished their first glass full, Liz refilled their wine glasses. "Why don't you come sit with me too," he asked.

"He is such a big dog," she answered. "I'm not sure we would all fit on the bed."

"Hold on," Fitz got up, waved her up from her chair, picked it up and moved it next to the bed. "How's that?" he asked then.

"Acceptable," she answered and curled back in the chair. They could both use the side table to perch their glasses on.

"I think it's too quiet," he said to the room.

"I agree." She looked over at him. "I just am not good with comforting words. That's my older sister's job, being reassuring and positive. Or my father, he can be understanding. But never my mother. Never me."

"I seem to recall tales of your mother," he threw out.

"Yes," she sighed. "I don't know what to say to you Fitz."

"I don't want you to be afraid to talk," he said. "Are finals done?" he asked.

"Is that your next question," she wondered.

"It can be, I guess," and he took another sip of wine. "I think so long as a question is about you, or about us it should count."

"Questions about us," she pondered. "Wow. Yes, finals ended Thursday and I think I slept all day Friday and half the day yesterday. So yeah."

"How'd you do?"

" _Well_ , I think I did _well_ ," she sort of nodded, took a sip of her wine then put the glass back down next to his. "I had one less class yet the coursework seemed half again as much work, but I believe that's just because they were upper level classes. But now I only have one more year to go."

"So, you're free?" he inquired, perhaps there was more to that question than simply asking if school was over.

"Is that another question?" Liz smiled.

"Can it be? it's not been another hour."

"Oh bother with the whole wait an hour thing," she said. "I'm free in the sense that I'm done with school for the year, but I'm supposed to hear about an internship any day now. In San Francisco so I'd have to commute."

"Working Business Woman then?" It was his turned to smile. She thought he was almost teasing.

"I guess. I even bought a few things to wear today in anticipation that I'd get the post."

"What's the internship for?"

"Writing, what else?" She untangled her legs and rested them up on the bed. "It's to write grants for a non-profit company which provides money for Third World communities to dig wells. Water being the most essential resource we need." She poked him with the end of her foot. "You gave me the idea."

"I did?" he looked confused.

"Yes. Do you recall joking or jesting about being a microlender?"

"I honestly believe I was angry with you that morning," he said, his face growing dark.

"Oh, well…I considered such a program and found this short-term contract job to write grants to help fund their work. They're supposed to let me know soon."

"I hope you get the contract," he said. "It sounds perfect for you."

"I've never had a nine to five sort of job, it will definitely be different," said Liz.

"I don't have a nine to five sort of job. I wonder what it would be like," he said. Liz poked him again with her toe. "Really, I've always worked crazy hours," he asserted.

She pushed him a little more forcefully with her entire foot then, "you're the boss, perhaps you can cut back on the hours and set a better example for your employees about work/life balance?"

"I never had any life to consider besides work," he said looking intently at her. "My life _was_ work until I met you. Then I dreamed of life again, for the first time in years, I dreamt of having a life. Most of all I dreamt of a life with you in it."

"I don't know that anyone has ever said they dreamed of me, Fitz," she stilled, considering his words. Part of her wished to believe them and part of her wanted to flee and part of her thought about arguing with him.

"I do," he said. "I dream of you Liz."

"I've certainly thought about you a lot," she offered. "Does that count?"

"Good thoughts or bad?" Fitzwilliam asked.

"A lot of good ones, some bad. I admit there were bad ones." She took a long sip of wine. "I've finished," she held up her glass to show him. He poured wine from the bottle into both their glasses.

"That's the last of it," he said putting the bottle down.

"I thought we weren't going to discuss the really tough stuff until question fourteen, but I've lost track," she said. Liz took another sip of wine as if to fortify herself then stared down into the glass. "Even on that day. The day we were supposed to go to Vegas, I remember being numb, having cried my heart out, and yet thinking all my memories of our time together were good. It was just ruined at the end with my… _discovery_. But that proved to be a false discovery, wasn't it. So," she turned to look fully at him. "All my thoughts, my bad thoughts of you which have happened since that day, are all based on a false premise so they should be discounted. But I think it doesn't quite work that way."

"How so?" His brows coming together as he shifted on the bed.

"The feelings I experienced are still there, don't you see? Feelings do not always go away quickly, once felt. So if I'm a little jumpy, you need to understand."

"I get it. But you said _not always_ , so you might get past having bad feelings about me, and consider me an acceptable person one day?" asked Fitzwilliam.

"You want me to like you? Like we're back to meeting at street corners in the early morning hours, in the dark?" He was not sure if she was teasing or sarcastic or hurt.

"Yes, I want you to like me. I've tried to be clear with what I'm saying and asking tonight, Liz. I just am not as certain about your answers," he worried. "I don't want to make you jumpy and run away, but I don't know if when you asked me 'do you still want me in your life?' and I said _yes_ what that means to you. Does that mean anything to you or were you just gathering information?"

"I guess I'm not clear, am I? I'm better at writing my words down and pondering them for long periods of time than in getting them out in the moment." She looked down at her wine glass. "No, I'm not just gathering information. I still like you, Fitz." She poked him with her toe though she did not look at him. "I think I should like to have you back in my life." She put her wine glass down and looked at him. "But I think I have some wounds that need to heal."

"Time heals," he said and grabbed her foot, holding it delicately in his hand.

"I think that is the ball of my foot," she smiled, wiggling her foot in his hand. "The heel is the round, hard bit at the end." He laughed, squeezed her foot then let it go.

"I believe I contribute to your nervousness," he said taking a sip of his wine then putting his glass down as well. "I need to tell you I'm still as crazy about you today as I was before. That has to make you jumpy, and I'm likely to continue to make you skittish. So if I'm too overwhelming you need to say so. And I need to learn when to let you have time and space, I fear. As much as I admit that will be difficult." He adjusted himself on the pillows. "I think one of my…sins…from our first outing was that I was so ready to be with you. I didn't want to be apart from you, so I resented the minutes we were away from each other. I have to admit I brooded and cursed that week you had finals and didn't see you walking the dogs in the mornings."

"You brooded and cursed?" Liz said.

"Yes. I think I was unkind in my thoughts about you because I didn't understand; I resented you. I undervalued you. It is my turn to apologize. I didn't know you were studying at Stanford; I had some nebulous college setting and thought _surely she can step away and see me?_ I was selfish and arrogant and that bastard you accused me of being."

"I don't believe either of us has been shown in a good light. Perhaps, we _ought not_ to keep talking and confessing our sins, Fitz. We might stumble onto something truly unforgivable," she said and poked him with a toe again. "Let us consider Jack who is a good dog and should be held up as a shining example of faithful and loving. An example which we fall short of."

Both of them roused themselves, dulled by the wine and their selfish conversation from their friend still lying beside Fitzwilliam.

"Perhaps we should move him?" he suggested. "Turn him over on his other side?" Jack had been lying on his right side, his back up against Fitz's legs.

"That sounds like a good idea," she agreed. Standing after two and a half glasses of wine was a tipsy proposition, but she managed. Liz went around to the other side of the bed. "We're going to move you Jack. You're a good dog; we're going to take good care of you." She looked up at Fitz who had moved from his pillows to lean over the dog.

They maneuvered him onto his left side then, his legs pointing towards the center of the bed.

"Do you think he's in pain?" asked Liz as she straightened herself and looked down at the dog.

"No," answered Fitz as he looked from Jack over to Liz. "Heather gave him a shot of something."

"That's good," she looked at Fitz who looked crumpled and worn. "Are you in pain?" she asked in a softer, smaller voice.

"Yes," he answered, his lip trembling. "I've managed to forget about Jack for a while despite the fact that he was right here."

"Curl back up with him," Liz pointed to the bed. She walked around to where Fitzwilliam looked down at his dog. "Sit, lie down again," she touched his shoulder. He had not moved from his post in staring down at Jack. "Fitz…come," she pushed against him, moved closer to put her arm around him.

He swallowed, and then turned to look at her. "Sit with me, talk to me, distract me," he asked leaning into her a little.

"Sit," she said softly again. He moved from her and took up his sentry position on the bed, resting again on the pillows.

"There's room," he said reaching a hand out next to him.

"Small," she said.

"If I just move Jack's paws a little we will, all three, fit," he said. He shifted Jack's paws slightly, moved over and reached out for her; Liz sat down tentatively and swung her legs up but there was not enough room for them to sit side-by-side. "Can we try this?" He pulled his arm out and nestled her against him, and then they both fit. "Okay?"

"Yes," she answered. "What am I supposed to talk about? I'm not good at being cheering."

"You've mentioned your grandmother, your Italian grandmother, many times. Tell me about her," he said.

"Nonna. I've never loved someone so much," she said unabashedly. "I miss her; I miss her arms. I miss her scolding me to _do good_ and to always try to do better. I miss her busy little hands. I miss her accent." She moved slightly against him. "I'm not certain this is the right topic," she asserted, her voice uneven.

"No," he moved too, they both seemed to settle down against the pillows, wine and despair making them sleepy and companionable. "I want to hear about your grandmother."

"My grandfather was stationed overseas after World War II; he didn't see action in the war; he was too young. But he was in Italy and he met Nonna. She's from Trieste, her family is from Friuli."

"Never heard of it," he said. "That doesn't sound Italian at all."

"I know, most people say it sounds like a drink, a stupid sports drink or something. I was often teased because people have wild ideas about how Italians are supposed to act. In some places, even in the 1950s, did you know you could not own property in certain areas if you were Italian?"

"No," he answered, surprised.

"Yes, if you were African American or Italian you were lumped together and discriminated against. So grandpa settled in a town where he could bring his new bride, despite her background. Despite her features saying one thing and her accent another," Liz explained.

"What do you mean?" asked Fitzwilliam.

"Nonna had white-blond hair and blue eyes," she explained. "Friuli is in Northern Italy. A sort of confluence where Germany and Austria and the Slavic states all crossed. I think of raiding Germans accounting for the propensity of blond hair, but it's a very multi-ethnic place."

"Blond hair and blue eyes!" he looked down at her, "I seem to recall you saying I had to see your family."

"Jane looks a lot like Nonna." Liz sighed and seemed to lose track of the conversation; they were both tired, their breathing was slowing. "It was just before high school that Nonna died. People, kids in school, often told me that Italians were lazy. It's funny what stereotypes people latch onto: Italians are dark-haired; they are lazy. My peers talked me into distrusting my heritage," she seemed to be in a dreamstate as she spoke and as they relaxed even more into the pillows.

"I've often quibbled with my father and the way he ran his business; the fact that it failed, actually. My disagreement with my father is wrapped up in the death of my grandmother. _I believed my friends_ , thought my father a lazy Italian and rejected him. Nonna was gone; no longer there to give me advice, to scold sense into me." Her voice was cracked and sorrowful. "My one friend, Charlotte, told me to work really hard, and I would be rewarded. In many ways, I did succeed and it's good advice. If you, perhaps, wonder why I still maintain a level of friendship with her, Char, it's because of those years. I felt abandoned by my family back then. Nonna was gone, Dad's business was failing, he seemed unsure what to do and incapable of fixing it and my mother was, well, my mother."

She looked up at Fitz and noticed his eyes were closed, his breathing even. "I guess we both have abandonment issues, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy." Wine and despair, the drain of emotions, and the time of day dragged both of them to sleep.


	35. Dream a Little Dream of Me

Chapter Thirty-Five

"Dream a Little Dream of Me"

 _Say nighty night and kiss me  
Just hold me tight and tell me you miss me  
While I'm alone and blue as can be  
Dream a little dream of me_

Stars fading but I linger on dear  
Still craving your kiss  
I'm longing to linger till dawn dear  
Just saying this

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you  
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you  
But in your dreams whatever they be  
Dream a little dream of me

Liz opened her eyes with that disorienting sense of not being in a familiar place and needing to recall where she was and what she had been doing before she fell asleep. The light was gone entirely from the room though some ambient light came in through the window over the bed. She was certain there was a bathroom right outside the bedroom so went to use that. The hallway light came on when she stepped outside the door; apparently they were motion-sensor activated.

Once back from the bathroom, she left the door opened to provide extra light, if Fitz was still sleeping she did not want to wake him. Liz knelt at the far side of the bed next to Jack. He seemed cooler to the touch and she felt alarmed running her hands over his big frame. He was still alive that she could tell. Her hand stilled on his chest. There was no movement, then like a butterfly which flutters its wings frantically then rests; she felt his heart twittering then it would still. His breathing pattern was similar, a frantic breath then a long pause as though he forgot how or was fighting for it.

Liz knelt there, her hands up on the bed, a palm against Jack's chest and suddenly thought of kneeling in church. Sometimes she liked to kneel, clasp the pew in front and pray while listening to the music. Often, as a child, it had been so long to sit and wait to be released from that attitude that she would get lost in non-church thoughts. Could you pray for a dog? She was not sure if such a thing would be allowed in her church back home, but Vet Heather—who dealt with a lot more dogs than the church did—had said that all dogs go to Heaven, so Liz said a prayer for Jack to have a swift journey there.

"May you go and find a happy home there," she whispered. "And pick out a nice place for Fitzwilliam."

"Hmm?" said her other companion. She listened as Fitz stirred next to his dog.

"Fitz?" she called gently. "I think Jack is going. Should we call Heather?" There was stillness then, a deliberate silence. His house created no noise, no ticking clock, no hum of a refrigerator or other machines, and no outside sounds intruded through windows. It was dead silence.

"Yes," his voice was quite deep, probably a combination of sleep and despair. She heard him move, and he turned on the lamp beside him casting a light which made her blink. "Can you call?" He was leaning over to look at Jack, putting hands on the dog just as she had done.

"Yes. I'm not sure where my cell phone is. I'll need to go look." She came to check the chair but had no idea where she would have placed it and it was a big house.

Her items still rested on that bench in the mud room but her cell was not in her purse. Liz checked the kitchen but she had left it spotless and short of having accidentally placed in a drawer or cupboard it was not there. They had talked for a while on those couches in the family room, and she found it half hidden there. Though there were text notices from others she ignored them and texted Vet Heather and then waited for a response. The vet said she would suit up and come back. Liz assumed that meant she needed to dress first.

"How is he?" asked Liz when she returned.

"Weak, very weak," he answered with eyes only for Jack. "His heart's barely going, his breathing irregular; he does not respond at all when I speak to him."

She looked at Fitz sitting and hovering over his dog. Liz felt she had nothing to say, no words of comfort. She came to kneel beside the dog again. "You're a good dog. It's okay," she said patting his head and back. "You can go, Fitz is in good hands."

Sitting a vigil is different when you are slightly divorced from the person or creature, it was keeping company, but this was unlike anything else, waiting for that moment when life stepped away. Neither of them noticed when it did, neither of them could say the exact moment Jack died. The sudden inhalation of breath simply never came again, and that little butterfly heart stopped beating its wings.

Fitz had curled up around Jack's head, and he had been watching the dog's eyes almost as if he could perceive the moment though it had eluded him. "I think he's gone," he said with a hand on Jack's muzzle.

Liz moved forward a little, but he sat up to look over at her. She moved beside Jack and Fitz. "She said all dogs go to heaven," but her voice broke at the end. She had never been good at being reassuring.

"I had often thought it was a stupid idea to get a dog," he said. His voice was even but she could tell he was struggling. There was more underneath, both that his emotions hovered there and that there was more of his story to share, "and yet, I did. I was launched on my own. I had the business to cope with. I had to finish college. I had the board and rogue employees to deal with. Somehow having a dog…" Fitz' voice petered off.

"It was because he always had your back, back then," she smiled slightly. "Someone you could always rely on. At the end of the day, you were struggling, and he was always there, always faithful, always loyal."

"Yes, exactly," he said. He swallowed, attempting to swallow his emotion and pain. There were tears which came then. Fitz lay down, curling again around the dog. Fitz lay his head down next to Jack's and cried. Liz put a hand out to Fitzwilliam then, and ran her fingers through his hair.

The buzz in her pocket indicated that Vet Heather was there so she delicately got up and went out to get the vet. Liz let her know that Jack was already gone. The vet expressed her condolences as they walked through the house, the wooden floors making their footsteps sound loud in the dark night.

Fitz was sitting up, but still looking just as devastated when Heather and Liz returned.

"I am sorry," said Heather who moved gently over to check Jack's vitals. They both watched her though it was more watching her hands and the busyness of them, allowing their activity to distract them from Jack's body lying there. "He's gone, Liz, Fitzwilliam," she said in turn.

Liz started crying then, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. She looked across at Fitz who still sat next to his dog. He looked hollow.

"My question for you two is what to do with him?" asked the vet. "It's past eleven at night. He's a large dog. What do you want to do with him?" Heather looked directly at Fitzwilliam.

"I don't really know," answered Fitz.

"You never considered arrangements?" asked Heather in her vet voice.

"No," he said.

"He's too large to consider burying in your backyard like a hamster," said Heather. "I never recommend backyard burials for a number of reasons. I have a service which cremates pets and scatters their ashes up on a ranch in Santa Rosa. I can have him taken there. Is that okay?" She had a soothing, efficient voice like some doctors do, reassurance and confidence came across and fed into you almost like medicine.

"Yes, alright," said Fitzwilliam.

"I'll take him away with me then," said Heather. "I'll let you say goodbye first." She turned to step out of the room.

"I'll let you do that in private," said Liz who followed the vet and closed the door. She was not sure if she was being sensitive or cowardly.

"I will need to get a bag from my truck," said the vet. "It might be best if your friend does not witness that. No one likes to see bodies carted away in bags."

"Okay," said Liz who still felt emotional herself and wondered that she was being assigned the support rock role. "I'll distract Fitz as best I can."

Heather looked at her as if attempting to ascertain the nature of their relationship but merely asked, "how's Morgan le Fey?"

"Still an escape artist," answered Liz.

"I'll go outside," said the vet.

They were in the hallway outside the bedroom, both of them leaning against walls for support, or perhaps because it was late and she had been hauled out of bed, in the case of Vet Heather.

"Look, is it okay if I use the front door? I assume it's just there," Heather moved to point around the corner.

"Yes, I assume so. I don't _think_ there's an alarm system or a code needed," said Liz. "I guess that is more straight-forward," she wiped at her tears and pulled away some hair from her cheek. "I've never been here before so I'm still working out the layout."

"Oh, okay. Well I'll go," said Heather. "Distract him, okay?"

"Yes."

The bedroom door opened, and Liz turned to look at Fitzwilliam. She held a hand out to him, but she could not think of anything comforting to say. He walked up and clasped it.

"Heather will see to him," she finally offered.

"I should walk her out or something," he began.

She tugged at his hand, "no, she will see to him. Come on," she pulled him down the hallway but she was not sure exactly where they should go. Sitting on the family room couches seemed inadequate then. "Come," repeated Liz. That hallway ended in the stairs going up and that seemed the natural thing to do, and even though she had never been up them, they made their way to the second floor.

The hand which held hers was tight, _a death grip_ , she thought as they turned to make their way to the top landing. The landing was enormous, a room in itself with seating and shelves in a little nook, small and charming with casement windows. Liz thought in happier times she could curl up and read there easily. She did not know where to go, what rooms were located on that floor and where. She paused but Fitz' feet kept going. Liz did not think he was making a conscious decision but simply was a horse heading to its stable, and he moved forward, through double doors into his bedroom.

The room was huge; she expected that. There was a large bed on the left which looked out through a long expanse of windows. It looked out, no doubt (when there was daylight), into the garden outside. At the far end was a little fireplace, charming, cozy, and intimate in a little nook with two chairs placed in front of it. There was a small two-seater couch in front of that long expanse of windows, and they both kept moving towards it.

He sat down on the it, the action pulling her against him. Fitz wrapped his arms around her and cried.

"My dog is gone," he said to the back of her neck. She heard breaths, awkward and sharp. "My dad is gone." His hug became a crushing one, almost stemming off her own breathing. "He may have been a bastard for leaving, but I can still miss him."

They breathed in tandem since they were so tightly bound together. But his arms relaxed as his emotions calmed. Liz freed an arm to pull it around his shoulders and to pull him to her chest. "I think we both need to sleep," she said in a soft voice. Fitz' arms tightened their grip as a response. "Is that a yes or a no?" she prompted.

Fitz almost seemed to be sleeping in her arms, but Liz knew they could not share a small couch all night. She knew she could be practical. One hand pushed him up and away from her to sit.

"Sleep," he said, his voice still deep and pained. "It feels like the middle of the night."

"It _is_ the middle of the night. It's past midnight," Liz looked him over. He had on a t-shirt and athletic pants, not his usual business attire. "We are exhausted and drained."

"Yes," he agreed, letting out a large breath and reaching for the arm of the sofa. "Sleep. Both the bedrooms at the front are free. Georgie's room is the back one." He stood and stumbled forward to his bed. He had taken his shoes off at some point, but still wore socks, so he sat on a small upholstered bench at the end of the bed to remove his socks.

"Fitz, I can't stay in those bedrooms," she began as she mimicked his actions, but he looked up with surprise and anguish that she had to come fall at his feet. "No, I'm not saying I won't stay. Just that I want to keep an eye on you." Liz looked up at him then moved to sit beside him and removed her second sock. "I'll just stay here, with you, if that's okay?"

"Yes, perfectly awesome," he said looking over at her. "Being looked after by you," he yawned. "And sleep."

"Which side of the bed do you like?" she asked.

"The right, I guess. We'll have to see?" He stood and moved to pull covers down and fell onto the exposed sheets. Liz followed him to his side of the bed.

"It's a warm night. I'll cover you with just a sheet," said Liz, pulling it up. She went back to those double doors which led into the room and clicked off the overhead lights then made her way back into the room. It was not so dark that she could not navigate it, despite its being a new landscape. She thought Fitz in his athletic clothes would be comfortable, but her jeans would not be, so she took them off and threw them on the bench at the end of the bed, and crawled under the sheet acknowledging her exhaustion.

His bed was big enough that she almost did not notice him over on his own side. Liz wondered if he was asleep already, but an arm reached out for her, gently, tentative, and she scooted closer. He turned on his side, and the other arm folded her up against him, and they both fell instantly asleep.


	36. Cheek to Cheek

Chapter Thirty-Six

"Cheek to Cheek"

 _Heaven, I'm in heaven  
_ _And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak  
_ _And I seem to find the happiness I seek  
_ _When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek_

 _Heaven, I'm in heaven  
_ _And the cares that hung around me through the week  
_ _Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak  
_ _When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek_

 _Oh I'd love to climb a mountain  
_ _And reach the highest peak  
_ _But it doesn't thrill me half as much  
_ _As dancing cheek to cheek_

It was still dark when snoring woke her, Liz turned and pushed at her companion who shifted away from her, quieted, and they both went back to sleep. When the sun woke, she woke with a headache and peeled open eyes gritty from the difficult day of before. Liz turned to look at her companion who laid still, his face softer as he slept. Apparently he was used to the curtainless windows and had no issue with daylight intruding on sleep. Fitz looked serene though there were small lines, _worry lines_ , she thought, which traced beside his mouth. Would his early trials make him age quicker?

She pulled herself out of bed and went into the bathroom. _This_ was one room which did not disappoint. Like the bedroom, it was on a huge scale. There was a gleaming white stand-alone bathtub set in its own alcove below a little window which looked so inviting that Liz thought she would bathe rather than shower if she ever used that room. The shower had two heads; it had a little built-in bench, and a third hand-held sort of sprayer. There was certainly room for two people in that glass-walled enclosure.

She did, however, need to use the toilet so walked past the sinks to one of three closed doors only to discover it led to a walk-in closet which was larger than her own bedroom at home. This closet was not used, apparently. While it had all the fixings to accept clothes and shoes, it was barren except for a small desk directly underneath the window. Liz wondered when Fitz would ever use that small desk when he had that huge study downstairs or all of the other places in this large and confusing house. She backtracked and walked across the room, still admiring the tub, and found the toilet in its own little enclosed stall and with the toilet seat up.

Liz used the toilet then finished her unabashed exploration of the bathroom. There was a linen cupboard full of towels and neatly arranged items. She wondered if Fitz was a neat and organized sort of person by nature or if his housekeeper had her hand in that arrangement. The last door led to another walk-in closet. This one was half the size of the other and was the one Fitz used. There were rows of trousers, shirts, and jackets all looking neat and businesslike, but there were jeans folded and lying on shelves. There were also piles of items that had been thrown on the floor as if he threw his dirty clothes there; she did not see a hamper so perhaps that was how he handled his laundry.

She retreated and headed back to the bedroom but stopped to look at herself in the mirror set over a double-sink. Her eyes were dark and bags lay under them. The hair on one side of her head was ratted; she suspected she had lain on that side. Liz ran the tap and wetted her fingers to run them through her hair. She rubbed wet fingers on her eyes and then dried them on a towel, finally retreating back to the bedroom. Tentative steps brought her to Fitz' side of the bed; he showed no signs of having moved. Liz was tired but not sure if she could sleep again. Perhaps she could nap later, though she had no concept of what 'later' might look like.

With one last glance at Fitz, she crept away, grabbing her jeans, and headed out of the bedroom, stopping in the landing to pull her jeans on before heading downstairs. The coffee pot was one item that sat on the counter in full view. Coffee and mugs were in the cupboard right above and Liz got the coffee started. She went to find her things—that bag of shopping, and her purse—and her phone. She brought her phone back with her while she waited for the coffee to brew.

She had been missed by number of people. Ron had texted her to ask if she was okay. Jane sent her a text to ask if they could just chat as she was nervous about her first day of work. Liz had forgotten that today was to be Jane's first day. It was Monday! She wondered if Fitz needed to be there to meet Jane? After all the events of yesterday, would he be a calm businessman and still go into work? If he did, what was she supposed to do? Liz could not recall what her plans had been for today that had forced her to shop on a Sunday afternoon and face the crowds. Such an event turning into a rather life-changing one.

Her heart flipped a little as she considered everything that had happened, what she had learned, the entirety of what they had shared since she saw Fitz sitting on the ground with Jack in his hands. So much had happened since Mary had texted about Liz being wrong about Fitz and then Jane's difficult call saying Fitz was only married to his job, but had no wife. Liz also thought about Jane asserting that there might be some misunderstanding at the time, though without ever saying I told you so. Her sisters were powerhouses of support and insight, even if she had not wanted to listen at the time.

Liz looked from her phone to the coffee pot and then looked around and thought, _I am in Fitz' house_. Such a thought would not have occurred to her twenty-four hours ago, despite Mary's and Jane's assurances that Fitz-Mason was not who she thought he was, and that the events that day had to have been different. Before Benny came to get her, realizing she had made a mistake did not mean there would be a remedy, a do-over. But fate had given her an ace. An in.

It was okay, a tentative _okay_ as she listened to the coffee drip. Liz doubted that they would have found each other again without the trials of last night for all that Mary had said her musical friend suggested Liz' take on the situation had been wrong. Perhaps Liz had been ready to admit she was wrong, but she would not have been courageous enough to see or speak or text Fitz had not Benny come to find her. Liz had been thrown into a situation and forced to deal with that past and to talk through her misunderstandings, _their_ misunderstandings, as they sat a vigil by Jack's side. She breathed hard for a few moments as the intensity of the end of the night hit her again, but the buzzing as the coffee finished made her stand to fill two cups.

She had not even opened her mail yet, so lost in thought was she. Liz took a sip of coffee as she looked at her email. There were a multitude of emails, including a long follow-up and concerned one from Jane, _but there was also a job offer_. They wanted her to come up the next day. Liz had to stop and look at the time stamp and wondered if that meant Tuesday or had they sent it on Sunday and were they expecting her _that morning_? But it was just after seven in the morning now and the email had just arrived in her inbox. The company meant Tuesday. Liz had a day to prepare. A day to consider how much things in her life had changed in just over twelve hours.

Tucking her phone in her back pocket, she took another sip of coffee, picked up the cup for Fitz and headed back around the corner, up the stairs to his room. A large side table sat on his side of the bed, proportioned, of course, to fit next to the bed and the room. It held a lamp though it was a big, boxy, shiny thing which Liz thought quite ugly, but color-wise it fit with the room's decor. (Probably why the designer had selected it, she supposed.) She put down both their cups and sat beside him.

"Hey," she called to him. "I brought you coffee."

He moved, freeing his hands from the sheet and taking in a deep breath. "If I open my eyes will you still be here, not simply have been a dream?"

"No, use your nose. Coffee, I've coffee," she said, smiling, though with his eyes still closed, he could not see her smile.

He opened his eyes looking straight at her. "You are real," his hands came down, and he held out a hand which she instinctively took. "You're beautiful," he said.

"I'm a mess, but thank you," she said. "I brought you coffee," she reached for his cup. "How do you feel?"

"Still tired, weary? Can I be weary oh English major?" He released her hand and sat up in bed and took the coffee mug.

"I think I'm rubbing off on you. _Weary_ is an excellent word," she took her cup and pulled her legs up to sit facing him on the bed while he took his first few sips of coffee. Such an act was, after all, sacred.

"Excellent coffee," he said. "I don't know that I've ever drunk coffee in bed." He eyed her. "I could get used to it, to these circumstances," he smiled a half smile, only part of his mouth rising.

"It's nice to have someone to share it with." Her smile was large and mischievous, "though someone has to get up and make it if the other is to drink it in bed."

"Well," he said, sipping then putting his cup down, "we could take turns. I'll make coffee tomorrow and _you_ can sleep in. And I'll bring it to you."

"No go," she shook her head. "I'll be a working woman as of tomorrow: I got a job!" He had been reaching for her foot but looked up.

"That is great news, Liz. You said the company was in San Francisco?"

"Yes, so I'll need to leave early on the train, or take BART and be home late every evening." She stretched her legs out in front of her, and he wrapped an arm around them and hugged her legs to him. "It means I'll be busy again and not available much and will you resent me and be angry with me for not being around?"

"No," he said. "I'm done being angry. I don't ever want to be angry with you. I just found you again. I know we still are just speaking because of circumstances and there's a lot of unsaid things, unsaid wishes and assumptions probably swirling around. I might be assuming we're back together and can be a couple and everything is fine but for all I know you're just thinking of me as a friend. And like an excellent and true friend, you take good care of your friends. So you stayed last night to see me through but that was the only reason you stayed."

"I love you Fitz," she said. "I stayed because I love you."

"As a friend?" he asked.

"No, as the guy I was so hot to run off to Vegas with, I love you."

"You probably need to put down your coffee cup," he warned. She leaned over awkwardly and placed it on the floor by the side of the bed. When she sat up, he had moved down the bed a little and was leaning over, waiting for her. His arms found their way around her, his lips found hers and he kissed her attempting to express how much he also loved her, before he leaned back. "Ugh, so coffee and morning breath. You will, no doubt, go running off now."

"No," she answered. "No more running away and sending you odd texts. Communication can be a a great tool but it can also be a terrible thing. It can give false reports of us, of our thoughts and actions. Or it can break down entirely. I think you and I need to always talk and never text."

"Sounds like a plan," he said with Liz snuggled against his chest. "However, it was a long and trying day. I've slept in my clothes and have coffee to finish and a shower would truly be in order."

"It's Monday," she said moving back in his arms. "Aren't you supposed to go to work?"

"I'm going to take the day off. Given the circumstances, I'm taking a personal day."

"Okay. So…if you still need to finish your coffee. Can I take a bath in your bathtub?" she asked.

"Yes…though you're going to tempt me hour one, huh?" he commented.

"That wasn't my intention. I simply admire your tub," she said. "I'm not flirting."

"I wish you were," he said to her ear.

"I merely covet your bathtub," she whispered back.

"Feel free any time to take a bath in that tub. I don't believe it has ever been used," he said.

"Thanks. It's good that I bought some new clothes yesterday. Though I have to save the best to wear tomorrow since I really have the job. I may need to go shopping again."

"You're not going to spend the entire day with me?" he joked as she disentangled her arms and form from him, and picked up her empty coffee cup.

"No, yes…it's only seven, maybe eight. It's just…bath-time. I'm just thinking about the fact that I smell."

"If you smell, I probably smell," he said. "Maybe while you bathe, I can shower."

"That's an interesting idea. But I need my clothes. Are you done with your coffee?"

"Not yet," he leaned back on his pillows with a rather smug smile, and she thought he was thinking about the prospect of showering while she was bathing.

"I'm not sharing the bathtub," she called to him as she walked out, "I figure there's coffee left. I'll bring some back up."

Once in the kitchen, she put her cup next to the coffee pot then went to look at her bag of things from the day before. She realized that she had left her car in the shopping center lot and would need to walk back, or have Fitz drive her back, to get it.

But she was considering that she had come prepared to spend the night with Fitz given that she did not know she was going to. She would need to wear her jeans again, but she had purchased a few blouses and had a new top she could wear that day. There had even been a sale on some frilly underwear, and Liz had purchased a few pairs in anticipation of being employed and having more cash. She grabbed a shirt and underwear to change into and turned to go back to get her coffee cup and heard a noise.

She thought maybe Fitz had come down to refill his cup. Noises in the kitchen were not a surprise, but a woman walking into the kitchen was. The woman was far more surprised than Liz.

"Oh my!" cried the intruder.

Liz' instant assumption was this was the housekeeper which was backed up because there was a small infant sleeping in a pack on her chest. She looked vaguely familiar though Liz had not really paid attention to her looks; the overriding characteristic of the woman that day had been that she was pregnant.

"Are you a guest of Mason's?" asked the housekeeper.

"Yes," answered Liz automatically. "I'm Liz."

The woman drew in a breath. "You're Liz." Her voice changed as she narrowed her eyes and looked at her. The response made Liz stop and consider what that meant.

"I'm Yvonne, his housekeeper." She nodded at her basket just inside the door. "He's got the only washer and dryer. I assumed he'd gone to work. I usually do my laundry on Mondays; he's usually gone by now. He's fastidious about his schedule," the housekeeper seemed to be rambling a bit as she stared at Liz.

"Jack's gone," Liz explained. "He died last night. I've been looking after Fitz."

"Oh," Yvonne turned and looked at the spot where Jack normally lay in the family room and noticed his absence. "I'm sorry," she said, turning back. "Tell him I'm very sorry. I guess I won't do laundry today."

"He's…Fitz…Mason is taking the day off today," explained Liz. "He's not going to work."

"Okay," said Yvonne. "Thank you for being there for him."

"No problem," said Liz.

The housekeeper turned and let herself back out, leaning down to awkwardly get her basket of laundry with the baby still attached to her chest. Liz watched her go thinking she should have said something about the baby, congratulated her, but she turned to refill her coffee cup. Something overcame her, and she went with hurried feet up the stairs to his room.

There were signs he had gotten up as he was now lying on top of the sheets, and he made a gesture that looked like he was draining the last of his coffee then he put it down beside him, a wide smile on his face. The look on her face must have made him concerned. "What happened?" he asked.

"I saw your housekeeper," she said. "She was coming in to do laundry. And it just…she's real. She had a baby with her."

He got up and came over to her. "I can appreciate that was difficult. You must be considering that day and recalling everything, all you felt. I guess we just need to take small steps, don't we? You need to always talk to me, Liz. You need to always talk to me," he repeated. "Do you want to go?"

"I can't leave," she quipped.

"Why?" he asked.

"I don't have a car," she answered. "I walked here, remember? I chased Benny. My car's in the store parking lot."

"I can always drive you to the store, if need be."

"It just…is a shock," she said. "Yes, I did recall that day. But in a way, it wasn't so bad this time, remembering. Because I knew it was _her_ , she said her name was Yvonne, and I know she isn't attached to you. I'm afraid she seems very confused about my being in your house though." She paused then asked. "Have you told her about me?"

"Yes, I told her about you," he explained. "She's been a good friend. She's been my housekeeper for seven years and kind of like Jack, she's always had my back. She saw me through tough times and helped a lot with Georgie." He put two hands on either side of her shoulders. "What do you want to do Liz?"

"I don't want to run away," she said. "I want to take a bath."

"Do you know where the towels are?" he asked.

"Yes, I sort of had trouble finding the toilet so had to open a few doors," she explained.

"Okay then, have at it. I guess I'll go get more coffee while I wait for you to bathe."

It really was a beautiful tub, deep, pristine white, and inviting. She thought _soothing_ as she looked at it. Liz got the water running then realized there was no soap or shampoo.

"Fitz!" she called.

"Yes," apparently he had not gone to get coffee. Perhaps he expected that she would have stripped down by then and looked disappointed she was not in the bathtub.

"Can I borrow some soap?"

"Sure." He went to that large linen cupboard and pulled out two different bars. She selected the one which was the least masculine-smelling.

"Shampoo?" she prompted.

"I have a bottle in my shower…" he began.

"Oh well, I'll make do." Liz leaned over to test the water and check its level.

"How many questions have we had?" he asked.

"Ten or eleven," she called back

"Does your asking to use my bathtub count as a question?" he wondered.

"It can," she answered.

"Does that mean I can ask a question of you?" Fitz asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Our night together, not last night, but our night together at your house," he said. She turned from her bath and leaned against the tub rim. "You spoke to me in Italian." For the first time she blushed, there in the daylight. When they had talked about sex before, she had seemed unabashed and comfortable, but she seemed slightly embarrassed to be recalling their intimacies so many months ago in the dark in her bed.

"You want to know what the words are?" she prompted.

"Yes."

"It's an old Italian saying," she said.

"I gathered that much," he replied.

"Nonna taught it to me."

"I gathered that much as well."

"I think, though, that my getting into the bathtub is not the time to be telling you," she explained.

"You're going to make me wait?" He growled.

"Yes," she said. "I'm going to make you wait."

Her clean clothes were on a small stool tucked into that tub alcove. She had dropped her towel on the floor. The tub must have been meant mostly as a soaking tub as there was no place to put the bar of soap so she threw it on top of her towel. Her jeans came off and when she turned, she saw that Fitz showed no signs of going anywhere. She peeled off her shirt and still he stood and watched her as the clothes pooled on the floor. She kicked off her panties while she unhooked her bra all the while looking at him with, perhaps, the same smug smile. But then a hand steadied herself on the tub's edge, and she crawled in and relaxed in the water, reaching up to turn off the faucet.

"You're really going to take a bath and make me wait?" he asked. He had ended up leaning against the counter watching her like a bird of prey.

"Yes," answered Liz as she melted down even farther so her chin hit the level of the water. Her eyes became unfocused as she stared along the line of the water. "It's a magnificent tub."

"Hrmph," growled a voice. Sudden movement caught her eye, and she saw Fitz move through the side of her vision over to his closet and heard noises there. Her eyes were just barely above the rim of the tub and Fitz came back out of his closet, naked, heading for his shower. His form was really a blur given her angle, and Liz did not allow herself to be distracted from her bath. She dunked herself completely under the water, came up and then lost herself in relaxing and feeling at peace as she listened to the sounds of Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy taking a shower and attempting to distract her from her bath.

She had her eyes closed, and had not touched the cake of soap, when she sensed there was a person there. Liz opened her eyes to see a towel-clad figure gazing down at her.

"That's a very long bath," he commented.

"It's been a very short bath," she countered. "I could be in here for hours."

"Hours?" he groaned.

"Were you waiting for me?" she smiled that half-teasing, half-serious smile.

"Maybe."

"I suppose there'll be other times for me to indulge in enjoying this bathtub," she sighed.

He leaned down to pick up the towel from the mat in front of the bathtub and held it out for her, the cake of soap tumbling to the floor. Liz stood, the water streaming off of her body as she paused for a moment before she stepped out.

"You are like Venus rising from the waters," he said. The towel was spread wide to welcome her in its folds as she climbed out. But then her arms were pinned to her sides as he leaned in to capture a kiss.

"You brushed your teeth," said Liz. "I wonder if you have an extra toothbrush? That's something I didn't purchase yesterday."

She wriggled her arms free to claim ownership of the towel and wrestle it from his arms, but rather than wrapping it around her, she pulled it up to dry off her hair. Fitz stood and watched her; every movement she made was mesmerizing. His comment about her looking like Venus, he felt, had been spot on. She had looked like a goddess as she stepped from the tub.

As soon as she finished her hair the towel hovered between them but he did not let it stop him, and he kissed her again, more urgently, to express his need.

"I'm still damp," she said.

"I don't care," he answered as he nibbled at her chin and neck.

"Are we to forever do foreplay standing up? Can we never get to it in bed?" she said. Liz seemed to make one last half-hearted attempt at blotting dampness from her body, dropped the towel then reached for him. Her hands touched his chest, ran delicately around his waist to his back as she insisted on more kissing before she pulled back and grabbed a hand in hers to pull him away from the tub's edge, out of the bathroom, and into the bedroom. "The bed in is in here," she explained.

He could not take his eyes off of her naked form as she walked with his hand in hers leading the way to his bed. The sheets still lay disheveled from their night of imperfect rest, and Liz led him all the way to the edge; he dutifully followed. She turned and his eyes gazed down at her form but there was something about the way she stood, confidence and passion, that made his whole body flush with such desire for her that he thought his mind took a backseat to the senses running through him which were in overdrive.

Her hand came to run fingers under the towel which was still wrapped around his waist; he thought she was teasing him, but apparently Liz was simply seeking where the end of the towel lay as once it was found, she grabbed the end and unwrapped it from his body. She touched him and he groaned. He leaned over to kiss her, his hands running down her back, then he clasped her by the waist and suddenly threw her onto the bed.

Liz looked up at him in surprise and delight, pushing herself up on her elbows as she gazed at him. His eyes were dark, intense, and focused, and not looking at her own, but fixated on her breasts as he began crawling towards her. He stopped to rub his chin against the inside of her knee. She pulled her leg away as the bristles on his chin tickled. "You need to shave," she said.

"Friday," he growled, trailing his chin up along the top of her leg. He could hear the gasps from her, the sharp intake of breath; hear her breathing intensify as her desire intensified. He stopped to kiss the point of her hip, his sex pointedly nudging against her thigh as he crept up her torso, kissing her belly. Lips pulled at a nipple and her back arched involuntarily at the touch. He lowered himself a little so their skin bristled as it contacted and as his sex poked more urgently at her thigh. "No more standing up, you're right," he whispered to her neck.

Her hands snaked around him, re-aligning him so their lips could find each other, and she kissed him roughly, tasting his lips and chin, wrestling tongue tips. Her breathing so troubled her that her lips and tongue had to pause so she could catch her breath; he could feel her breasts pushing back against him, rubbing against his chest, another distraction. Her legs had scissored around one of his own, imprisoning his sex, and wreaking havoc with his breathing.

"Liz," he began as he kissed her chin. He shifted to his side and his hands wandered her body, lingered on her breasts, and traced a nipple. "Are you to speak Italian to me?" He did not care if she explained the words or used a different phrase, but he wanted to hear those throaty and sexy words again.

"I think we need to be practical for a minute," she said nibbling on his throat and stroking his waist and hip and heading into dangerous territory. "I fear if Italian is spoken we will both be undone," she ran a hand slowly down the length of him, and he took in a huge breath.

"I'd forgotten," he said, realizing they were lying crossways on the bed. "You're the most amazingly distracting woman," he sighed, and rolled away to open a drawer in the side-table. He fiddled in that drawer for a number of seconds before he found a condom. He dealt with the package rapidly and was back pressed against her side again. Liz snaked an arm around his shoulders to pull him to her. It was not a kiss, but a feast, repeated nibbles at his lips then she drank from them, then her tongue slipped in to meet his own, drew it away to nurse at it, devour it. She did not let him up from that long kiss until their need to breath became overwhelming.

Her free hand came up and entwined with his, then pulled that hand down to her stomach. " _Pancia_ …belly," said Liz. She pulled his hand up to her breast, and they gasped in unison as his hand moved over her breast, cupping it, moving his fingers there gently, softly, delicately. " _Tette_ …tits." His sex leaped; she could feel its movements against her thigh, and Fitz' arms wrapped her to pull her to him as he rolled over on his back.

His hands moved up her sides to delicately touch the edges of her breasts which seemed to make her squirm more. Liz pushed herself up on his chest slightly, her breasts weighing heavily against him, and he groaned. She captured one of his hands again and brought it behind her. " _Culo_ …arse." He lost his mind again; both of his hands grabbed her _culo_ cheeks and pressed her to him. He rolled them over again, kissing her chest and throat, hands pulling at her knees, his urgency overwhelming.

" _La dote di Friule_ ," her voice was a throaty whisper as she wriggled beneath him, her hands stroked his back as she drew her knees around his hips, "the dowry of a Friulian woman." Her hips tilted up, his sex pressed against her own. There was a pause as his kisses stopped, her hands stilled, and they looked at each other before he thrust into her, the pleasure of which shuttered both their eyes.

Her hands flew to his head, one pressed against his neck, tickling the softly clipped hairs there; the other tracde a slow path down his back. Liz opened her eyes to gaze at his intense face, his brow was furled almost as if in pain, but then his eyes flew open as his arms snaked beneath her. They were engulfed by their locked gaze as they stared at one another while their hands and fingertips incited their senses, and their united movements enhanced all that they felt for each other, empowering, healing, and exhilarating. A thin thread of pleasure ran down Liz' spine, and she closed her eyes as both of her hands came to his sides as she stroke there with feeling. Fitz buried his head in her neck as he gripped her even tighter.

"Liz," he appealed to her as a power, harsh and warm and resonant hit him and he came, his body ardent, acute, and stiff. Liz' hips twisted, her back arched, and her arms grabbed him to hold him to her, as her own pleasure hit her, a wave sweeping from her womb through her torso to her limbs as she called out loudly and incoherently.

They both panted; their breath a staccato. He managed a kiss on her collarbone. His hands came to their sides to come down to bear more of his weight though he did not wish to move. This place, this position, nestled against Elisa Vittoria Bennet, having just made love to her, was exactly where he should be.

Her breath still came in deep and rhythmic mouthfuls, but Liz managed to relax her death-grip on him. "Fitzwilliam," she whispered, "Fitzwilliam," she repeated.

He managed enough strength to raise his head and to kiss those lips which were saying his name so lovingly. "I love you," he said. "You told me you loved me, but I've not said I love you back," and kissed her again. His arms also relaxed their grip on her but only to rest his weight on his elbows; he delighted in the warmth and in sharing such closeness with another person, feeling so comfortable, so delightful. She pulled her legs up to hug his own. Her arms mimicked that action as they relaxed. She wriggled free a little, and he leaned over on his side.

"You're right, you've a really large bed," she said. Her hand ran over his face up into his hair. "I fear I'm going to need to bathe again."

"We can simply repeat this cycle again," he said kissing her. They managed to straighten their limbs and their bodies in the bed, tugging at the sheets and the blanket, twining arms and legs. They both thought of the delight of the warmth of someone's arms as they drifted off to sleep, despite the hour of the day and the sunshine coming in through that curtainless window.

* * *

A/N: This is going up a day early as I have to travel this weekend. Monday's post will be late. Don't expect it until Tuesday.


	37. C'est Si Bon

Chapter Thirty-Seven

"C'est Si Bon"

 _C'est si bon  
Lovers say that in France  
When they thrill to romance  
It means that it's so good _

_C'est Si Bon  
So I say to you  
Like the French people do  
Because it's oh so good.  
Every word, every sigh, every kiss, dear,  
Leads to only one thought  
And the thought is this, dear!_

 _C'est Si Bon  
Nothing else can replace  
Just your slyest embrace  
And if you only would  
Be my own for the rest of my days  
I will whisper this phrase  
My darling, my darling  
C'est si bon!_

"I'm starving," said a voice in Liz' ear.

Liz yawned and moved closer, attempting to close up any space between them. "I believe I dreamed about you, then I wake and I find you're real. It's a delightful reality," she whispered. That statement elicited first one long kiss which then morphed into a series of kisses that radiated over her cheeks, her chin and neck.

"Is that hungry for my lips or hungry because your belly needs nourishment?" she asked when her lips were free again.

He sighed. "You had to put things in such a perspective, didn't you?" He nibbled on her neck. "I've no idea what time it is and all we've managed to have is a cup of coffee. I doubt I have anything in the house for lunch as I rarely eat that meal at home."

"Surely there are places that deliver to Atherton?" suggested Liz as her hands began moving a little more insistently around his body.

They ordered take out, but not before they made love again.

* * *

There was a need to be practical in the sense of checking in with others. Liz contacted her new employers and assured them that she was happy to be coming in to work the next day. She also needed to deal with the fact that there were family and friends who were missing her. She texted Ron who had sent follow-up texts to the one from the previous night asking her whereabouts, and _Was she okay_? Liz responded that she was well, had stayed with a friend, but would be home by the evening.

The text to Jane she had to craft with more thought; Liz considered whether to be vague or more truthful. She decided to be forthcoming, but Jane had her own distractions that day, a new job in a company where her boss was her boyfriend. Jane didn't need the additional worries about Liz, so Liz found a sort of median line between enough and too much information.

 _Hope day is going well. Thinking of you. Ran into Fitz. We are talking._

Liz thought it quite summed up things, and they could cover all of the in-between territory when she and Jane contacted each other or saw each other next. She was not sure when Jane would have time to share about her own experiences or even contact Liz, since she had not called since moving to town.

Fitz had a mountain of things to deal with. The most interesting bit of news he had was an email from his assistant, Alex, saying she was giving two weeks' notice as she had found another job. Apparently, C.W.W. Collins was wooing Alejandra away to work for _him_ ; Fitzwilliam was happy to see the last of Alex. He wondered how Alex felt about having sent that email but that her boss was not even at work to discuss it. But really, he had far more interesting things to think about than the fact that his PA was resigning.

Bob was frantic to get a hold of him, though it appeared more out of curiosity. There were multiple texts and emails of the "where the hell are you?" sort from his cousin. Fitz finally texted him back _Jack died. I am at home._

He left it at that. There would be a lot of time to explain about Liz. Charles had emailed him as well to say he wanted to swing by to introduce Jane, which had been followed up with a text. _Where are you? No one seems to know where you are?_

Even Mrs. P. seemed to have gotten involved in tracking him down as there had been a voicemail from his HR director asking him if he was okay, was he sick, or taking a personal day, and to please _inform_ her.

Fitzwilliam and Liz had moved into the study; it took Fitz longer than he wished to deal with burning emails and voicemails. But then they lingered, sharing stories about themselves, both about their current lives and their childhoods. They discussed some of their favorite birthday memories, and it turned out that they had both enjoyed a trip to Disneyland for a birthday though the way their families had chosen to go to Disneyland had been quite different.

"I'm going to need to leave," she said eventually. Liz was curled up like a cat in a chair. Fitz was sitting like a businessman at his desk with his laptop open before him (though the screensaver had long been on), but he snapped it shut at that news.

"You can't go," he cried.

"I have to. I'm going to be a working woman tomorrow," she explained.

"Can't you stay tonight?" he pleaded.

"I need things at my house. _Clothes_. I just need to go home to get ready," she explained. "First of all, I need my car if you'll drive me."

"Yes, of course," he replied. Fitz realized how much he didn't want her to leave. He wanted her to move in, share his space with him. It had been everything he had ever imagined to have her there in his house. Liz talking or being quiet. Sharing a meal with him. Watching her bathe in the tub. Making love in his bed. He did not want to part from her. But considering she had just come back into his life about twenty-four hours ago, asking her to move in with him, _today_ , that afternoon, would probably scare her off.

As they were driving to get her car, he asked if they had finished their twenty questions.

"I don't know if we have or not," she answered. "We have covered a lot of territory, but I've a rather personal one."

"Yes," he prompted.

"And I admit it will probably concern me, whatever your answer," she admitted.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter but nodded.

"What is your net worth?" asked Liz.

"Oh." There was a drawn-out pause. "I haven't calculated it for a while," he said. The sounds of their breathing were the only ones for another long moment. "Personal assets: the house is worth about sixteen million these days. I have real estate and other investments of about twenty million." He briefly looked at her. "My company is both an asset and a liability. Its last evaluation was about forty-five million. I own roughly half; my cousin owns the other half, but there are some smaller investors. And there's the Mason Darcy Grandchildren Trust Fund."

"You have a trust fund?" her voice rose and the concern made it break on that last word.

"It's the grandchildren's trust fund. My Aunt Ellen is a financial wiz. She was CFO before my cousin Bob, and set up a trust fund for all of the grandchildren of her father, for whom I'm named, Mason Darcy. It fluctuates between eighty-five and ninety million dollars. She's done well with the investments. I have a twenty-five percent stake in that," he explained.

"I think I've lost track," said Liz whose voice was a little weaker than before. They had arrived at the parking lot by then. He remembered her car though she still pointed it out.

"I'm worth between seventy-eight and eighty million dollars, I guess," he said. "Some of it is also considered a liability; the company holds a lot of debt which falls on me."

"So you could really afford my not going to Vegas," she remarked, her hands came up to clasp her shoulders. "The cost of that unused ticket."

"No. I missed you," he insisted as he turned to look at her. He smiled his half smile.

"Fitz," her fingers tightened their grip, "I made a hundred dollars a day walking dogs," her voice sounded as if she was to break out in tears.

"But you will soon make more, you have your new job," he soothed. He wanted to take her in his arms to placate her, but kept talking instead.

"Do you know how in debt I am? My liability as you put it? Tuition at Stanford is forty-five thousand a year," her voice still sounded broken though Liz loosened her grip, and her hands fell back to her lap. She did not look away, however.

"Don't look at our relative value only because of our relative wealth, Liz. I was lost; I felt abandoned, and then I met you. I realized that all I did was work, but I didn't even live for work. There are some people who enjoy being so focused on work, but you got me thinking about seeking out life, seeking more meaning for myself. And I did, when I found you." He turned even more in his seat to look at her.

"Then I ran away and abandoned you. I hurt you, Fitz. How can that be good?" Tears did come then as her hands gripped at her jeans.

"But we have a second chance, Liz. The fates have given us _a second chance_ and I mean to take it. We were not perfect, we had issues when first we met; we are still imperfect but we are dealing with our issues, and we have each other. We realized our initial mistakes and are wanting to try again. At least," he looked at her tear-stained face with a jolt, "do you still want to try again?" He shifted again and held a hand out, palm up. He had more to ask her, to reassure himself that she loved him and this was not a final farewell, but he waited.

"Yes, I still want to try," she smiled through her tears, lifted a hand from her lap and placed it in his.

"I love you, Liz," he said. He wanted to add 'move in with me,' but clasped her in his arms to kiss her lips gently and to kiss away her tears. Despite the awkwardness of the seats, the angles, and the gear shift.

"I should go," she said as she pulled back. That sense of loss hit him, of being cheated, but he knew he would see her again and had to let her go. He had to trust Liz.

"Can I see you for dinner tomorrow, hear how the new job goes?" he asked as he straightened himself.

"Yes absolutely," she nodded before she reached down for her bag of items. Liz pulled the handle to open the car door then turned to gaze at Fitz. "I love you," she called. He watched as she started up her car and drove away.

* * *

Liz thought she could sneak in the door at home, but Ron heard the front door open and close. He poked his head out of his bedroom and stared down at her.

"Hi sweet girl. I've been worried about you. ' _Ran into a friend_ ,' is what you said, but I didn't think you had many school friends," he accused her with a concerned frown.

A flush of gratitude washed through Liz at his concern and love. "You have officially been promoted in status to _brother_ ," said Liz as she walked over to throw her plastic shopping bag into her room. She turned to look up that short set of stairs, "it's a story worthy of a long dinner. I ran into Fitz."

"Your cheating ex?" he choked.

"Yes," answered Liz. "Feel like cooking with me?"

The two of them prepared and cooked a meal while Ron listened. Brad returned from an errand to join them and to hear the bulk of her tale.

"So, you're going to try it again, give it a go?" asked Ron.

"Yes," answered Liz.

"I give her a week before she's moved in with him," predicted Brad. "We are going to need _two_ new roommates in the fall."

"Is Charlotte that taken with Raj?" asked Liz, her voice changing. She and Char were still not speaking on a regular basis.

"Seems so," answered Brad though he did not sound convincing.

"Take it slow honey," said Ron looking at her.

"I plan to. We messed things up so much last time that we need to be careful and take baby steps," she nodded.

" _Two_ weeks then," quipped Brad.

"I've never thought about living with anyone, sharing a space before," said Liz. "I will need time."

"Sounds like he has plenty of space. Half of a relationship is learning how to give each other space when you need it. But with this Fitz fellow, you'd be forever losing him in that house of his. You will need GPS just to track him down!" Ron laughed at his own joke.

"Thanks," said Liz. "Both of you."

* * *

Brad dropped her off at the CalTrain station very early the next day. Her new job was everything she hoped it would be: challenging, interesting, compelling and fulfilling. Fitz met her at the train station when she returned that evening. They had dinner together, and she shared about her entire day and all the aspects of her new job. She also let him pay.

It was the same pattern the rest of the week. One of her roommates dropped her off at the train station and Fitz would be there waiting for her when it pulled into the station. They would talk over dinner; he would drive her home, and they parted at her doorstep. Liz spent the weekend with Fitz in Atherton, then returned home Sunday evening. Monday through Friday she stayed at her own condo; Brad or Ron drove her to the train station and Fitz would pick her up.

Despite Brad's prediction, Liz did not move out in two weeks though Charlotte was gone at the end of June. Char had both a job and a new place as she moved in with Raj though she was equivocal about whether she was truly going to drop out of school. Her room remained vacant. Though Brad and Ron had said Liz could take over the larger room; Liz stayed where she was. There could only be so much change.

* * *

Jane must have been ecstatically happy with her new job, or overwhelmed by it, or not concerned about Liz' radio silence as far as Liz' weekend and running into Fitz, but neither sister contacted the other until Friday.

 _I love my job I love Charles_ had appeared on Liz' phone as she rode home on the train from San Francisco.

 _U realize am on train, cannot talk?_ Liz replied.

 _Best summer ever_ Replied Jane.

 _Where are u even stayin?_ Asked Liz.

 _w/ Charles_

 _What! We need girls night_ Texted Liz.

 _Yes, long talk, long long talk little sis!_ Replied Jane.

 _Your job good?_ Continued Jane.

 _Awesome, perfect fit_ Replied Liz.

 _Everything turning up roses for Bennet sisters_ Said Jane.

 _You are TOO happy_ Texted Liz who could not help but laugh out loud despite being on a train with strangers. _You know that?_

 _Can't help, see first text_ Replied Jane _So, Fitz?_

 _Awesome, perfect fit_ Texted Liz again.

 _What does that mean?_ Asked Jane. Liz could hear Jane's concerned big sister voice in those words as she read them.

 _Life is good w/ Fitz in it_ Answered Liz.

 _I worry, as a big sister_ Jane was the older sister to _two_ sisters, after all.

 _Thanks_ Replied Liz, _but we are taking our time, talking, better foundation,_ Explained Liz.

 _We so need to talk more_ Was Jane's response.

 _But, ok_ Jane continued, _Love you_

 _Love you_

* * *

It became obvious very quickly that Charles and Jane were a couple at Pemberley Energy. Jane's reporting relationship went sour quickly as Jackson Carter resented being put in a position of being her manager and being denied the ability to date the lovely Jane Bennet.

By the end of July, there was a shake-up at the company with Carter giving notice and saying he was moving elsewhere; he took Bolton-Meyers and the rest of the team with him. The battery project floundered. Fitzwilliam had been of two minds about taking on government contracts and Bob had actually been against it. His position had been that they needed to concentrate more on licensing revenue and less on innovation and design. But Jane's reporting relationship was certainly compromised.

Now, there was the issue of an intern who had no manager because Charles could not oversee Jane's work (they lived together for god's sake). But things between the couple had rapidly become serious; it even appeared as though they might marry.

A solution for both parties _and_ the company was found because Bob, clever Robert Richardson, sat down with Charles (when he was not distracted by the beautiful face of his beloved), to talk about Jane Bennet's skills. The subject of her rotor design award was mentioned. Bob decided to file a patent for it. Pemberley Energy set up a licensing agreement with Jane about her design which delighted her—the idea that there was money to be made off of her design. She was also thrilled to know that her name would be on a patent.

Jane decided to switch schools, applied to Berkeley and was waiting acceptance on her transfer. Charles assured her she could remain at Pemberley if she wished. Rather than firmly resolving to choose one option or the other, she decided to be fluid about her future and to take each day as it was presented. If Berkeley accepted her application she would finish her graduate work, but if they did not, she would stay and work at Pemberley.

* * *

Minerva Bennet had felt (back in May), that her entire world had come crashing down. That biblical Samson had pushed the walls out from around her world. Samson was not a man she ever liked—men _should not_ have long hair. Her rebellious daughter with her own ridiculous hairstyle was on a disastrous course to be dropping out of school, she was convinced. Moving across the country and away from Minnie's influence would not end well for Mary. Minerva had never expected great things for her youngest, never expected a rich spouse to raise her up, though she had grudgingly admitted that Bridget Morris had a head on her shoulders and would likely keep Mary away from mischief once they moved to Boston.

But her other two daughters! Liz had been a most dutiful child, and Jane was practically perfect, and yet in May, Liz declared she was no longer coming home to see her mother on the weekends because she claimed her coursework was too overwhelming and intense; the time driving home, and being away from school made it too difficult to concentrate on her studies. As if!

But then Jane wrote her an email (not even calling!) to say she would not be coming home to celebrate her own birthday and gave the same reason: schoolwork. Minerva thought her nerves and her constant headaches would land her in the hospital for sure—that she would not survive until June and her children would be sorry for provoking her.

But she should have known Jane was being _sly_. She should have known there was a man involved. Jane had landed a rich one! Minerva went from feeling neglected, and rebuffed and brooding about her ungrateful children, to sending Jane daily notes asking details about _him_.

It became evident, quite quickly, how involved they were as Jane was not the type of person to hide such details. If Minnie had to worm out the fact that they were sharing a house, she felt Jane was justified in hiding that one fact.

Her other child had, at least, found a job for the summer and seemed rather happy with it. Mrs. Bennet could not help but be surprised that majoring in English led to any sort of profitable employment.

* * *

Her days were long but Liz was used to long days. A roommate would drive her to the train station every morning; she would ride into San Francisco, but Fitz would _always_ meet her when she returned. They would eat together. Sometimes they would go out, sometimes they would eat in (having picked something up), and sometimes she would cook. Most often it was at his place. The kitchen at her condo, after all, was so small. Fitz had that gourmet kitchen with room to spare. But they both knew, unlike Charles and Jane who seemed to be happily nesting together in his rented house, that given her and Fitz' past history, they needed separate residences.

They worked fiercely on talking as much as possible. They shared small things about their day. They shared details and events from their past, even embarrassing moments or vulnerable moments, as they became more and more comfortable with each other, and grew more in love.

Their weekends were spent together. It was everything that Fitzwilliam had imagined to have a companion in his life to spend time with. He did not need some activity or sport to be with someone—to be with Liz. He did not need to know how to race boats or know how to save the world in order to enjoy the company of another. They always found something to do.

Because Liz was working and not in school, her mind was fully on their relationship and not partly on her schoolwork. They knew though, that come the fall, that would change, and their time together would change. Fitzwilliam constantly thought about the idea of Liz moving in, particularly come the fall. His house was, after all, only three miles from Stanford. But he knew that was a decision and an offer he had to sit on. He would need to propose it later, at the end of summer.

* * *

Mike Reynolds received a promotion, but with that promotion came a territory change for the salesman. The family was to move so that Mike could work from the company headquarters in New Jersey. Yvonne could keep house for just the Reynolds family. She could see Derek off to school and care for Grayson in a house of their own. It seemed even more of a reason for Fitzwilliam to suggest to Liz to move in with him.

Their relationship was tested when Georgie came home after completing her summer program in art. Georgia had two weeks to spare before she needed to return to Galveston and begin her fall semester, and while Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy had shared with his sister about Liz, he felt like he had not shared the extent of his feelings for Elisa Vittoria Bennet, how close they had grown, and how truly crazily in love he was with her. But he needed to not worry. Georgie had his back and his interests at heart.

Fitz had told Liz they would have less time, and she might need to stay at home while Georgie was in California, but his sister wanted to meet Liz. There was evidence, already, of Liz' presence in the house. She had made small changes there, ejecting expensive designer-picked furniture and decorations for simpler, more creative and yet homey pieces. Liz axed the boxy lamp in Fitz' bedroom for a more practical reading light. There were cozy pillows in the landing area which was turning out to be one of Liz' favorite spots as the openness and the quality of daylight, and the small two-seater couch proved perfect for reading. She sometimes thought that Morgan le Fey would love it too as it was a perfect spot to watch everyone's comings and goings.

Georgie had not been home more than a half day before she was commenting on the changes to the house and made some pointed inquiries about them, how they came to be, and when was she going to meet Liz?

The two women liked each other. Georgie, who had always adored her brother, had found she had difficult relationships with women. But she welcomed the idea of a sort of built-in sister. The fact that Liz was also in school meant they had a ready set of topics to talk about. When she discovered that Liz had two sisters, Georgie was happy to discuss girlish things with Liz and shoo her brother away, almost monopolizing Liz' time at the house during her short vacation in August.

* * *

Despite signs that Mary was not going to get her act together, she did manage to get all of her paperwork in to transfer schools. She did not, however, meet the deadline to start in the fall. That turned out to be okay as it gave her a chance to work and save money. It also gave her a chance to get used to being away from home and living in a new town.

Boston, in the area around the college, was so urban that it was an experience like no other for this rather country young woman—who had never considered herself as one. She could not help but be shocked and feel a little enclosed and claustrophobic at times. Maybe even a little paranoid, with so many eyes and people everywhere. Despite Mills being in Oakland, which was a rather urban city, Mills was still located in a little tucked-away valley, away from the sprawling downtown.

Bob was interested in selling out and Charles was interested in buying. However, it was not such a simple transaction as going to the electronics store and purchasing the latest phone. It was likely to take a year to actually do the deed, but Bob was excited to move on and get off to Boston. It also gave Charles the push that he needed to decide that he wanted to stay. Stay with Jane, stay in the United States, and stay in California to pursue citizenship. Since his Nan was gone there was only his sister left in England, and _that_ was an indifferent relationship.

It also prompted Charles to purchase a house. He looked all over the peninsula, and while he admired his friend Mason's house, houses in Atherton did not come on the market with great frequency, so he ended up purchasing one in a neighboring city. He and Jane continued their communal living though to Minerva Bennet's dismay, they did not rush to Vegas for a quick wedding or choose to have a full-blown church one either.

School, Stanford, did not start until mid-September. Liz' company wanted to keep her on board until the day she went back, but Fitzwilliam wanted a small holiday before she was embroiled in her last year of college so he proposed a short trip to Hawaii.

It was after Georgie went back to school, and with his sister's blessing, that Fitz asked Liz to move in when with him they were sitting on a beach in Kauai. She would be busy with school. They would have less time for each other. They could, at least, see each other at home. And such a prospect thrilled both of them, the idea of coming home, of sharing a home together, of coming home to each other, of making a home: whatever that looked like.

All this was due to Benny, the good dog. Benny who had introduced them, split them apart (though he had not intended to do that), and who had also brought them back together again at the end.


	38. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

 _Nine months later._

"Yo, Fitz! Don't forget your cousin's coming!" called a voice after Fitzwilliam as he walked out of his office.

He turned to his admin who sat at that same desk though it looked distinctly different from when Alex had distinguished it. Different doodads were scattered over the top.

"Thanks Ron," he said. "Just getting coffee while I also run to get paperwork from Claire."

When he came back to his desk, Bob had invaded his office, and was looking comfortable in a chair. Fitz was almost surprised that Bob had not usurped his own chair.

"I see you got a new chair," grinned Bob.

"Yes, _finally_ ," said Fitz. "Old one drove me crazy it squeaked so much." He scratched his head a little as he sat down in it. "Flight okay?"

"Great," said Bob.

"Claire's got the last of the paperwork drawn up. I think she's given me everything though we still need to do one set of signatures in front of her—for her to notarize," said Fitz. "We are cutting it really close."

"Twins, huh?" grinned Bob.

"Yes. I think she's under doctor's orders to be done with work, but she came in to make sure the final papers were all drafted," said Fitzwilliam Darcy. "We still have to wait for the final stockholder approval at the meeting in July, but I don't see a problem."

"I'm sure I can manage to come back out again then too," said Bob who was fiddling with a pen he had snagged off of Fitz' desk.

"How's retirement?" asked Fitz who sank back into his chair while he sorted the legal papers into two piles.

"I can't say I've really retired. Property manager now, ain't I?" grinned Bob. "With the money I made from my house here I bought two in Massachusetts. And one's a two-fer, so I live in the top half and rent the bottom, doing the landlord thing. I can't help but always be thinking about money apparently." He grinned even wider. "But Mary and I have the band. Sammy my old drummer had a day job and couldn't move east but we've found this girl drummer, Francine, who's good and we've had a few gigs, still just at college bars and venues, but I like Boston."

Fitzwilliam pushed forward the first of the paperwork over to Bob to sign. Robert Richardson picked them up and began to read with a practiced air about him; a man used to reading financial and legal documents.

"You're staying for Liz' party too?" asked Fitzwilliam as he watched Bob read.

"Yes, of course. Mary's flying in on Friday though Bridget couldn't get time off from work."

"No doubt Bridget isn't in a hurry to encounter Minerva Bennet," said Fitz.

"No doubt," said Bob without a real opinion as his nose was so immersed in the papers under it just then.

"Bridget probably doesn't want Minerva badgering her to get Mary to move back to California," said Fitz.

"Um hmm," murmured Bob, still with his eyes on the documents.

"On the other hand, Charles has been…distracted, high-strung. I get the idea that he is going to propose to Jane."

Bob laughed and put down the paperwork. "You are so wrong about that!"

"What do you mean?" asked Fitz.

"She's pregnant!" cried Bob.

"How do you know?" Fitz leaned forward to stare at his cousin.

"Cause Mary told me."

"If Mary knows that must mean Liz knows," Fitz frowned. "Why wouldn't Liz have told me?"

"I don't know. She had a bad day? Or maybe she assumed Charles would let you know? Maybe it's just a secret between sisters she doesn't feel inclined to share," suggested Bob.

"Wow! Somehow I always thought it would be Liz who would be pregnant first," said Fitzwilliam.

Bob sat up with such a look on his face that for once his ugly mug really looked ugly as his brows contracted together, "wait a minute! You two aren't thinking about having a kid, are you?"

"No, just history. Liz once said that it was her job in the family to have the grandkids. _She_ was going to be the first daughter to be pregnant," explained Fitzwilliam.

"Somehow that doesn't fit with what I know of the three of them," said Bob.

"All three said as much," Fitz assured him. "They're an odd set of sisters."

"Oh yeah!" agreed Bob. He went back to reading.

"So with you going," said Fitzwilliam. "That means I need a new CFO. Do you remember Lauren?"

Bob's eyes trailed up and he looked blankly at him for a few minutes before he asked, "wasn't that one of your ill-fated girlfriends for want of another phrase?"

"Yes. I ran into her at an event about three weeks ago. Anyways, Epsom is having a tough time and she's thinking of moving on and I think she'd be a good fit as your replacement."

"Stop right there," cried Bob. "If you want Liz to remain in your life you cannot fill your company with your ex-girlfriends. It's bad enough that Claire works here. You can't hire Lauren," he huffed. "Does Liz know about Lauren?"

"Yes. We talked about her," said Fitz.

"Does she know about the other two?" pressed Bob.

"Aahh. Yes. I finally got around to discussing my…dating that ill-fated April," Fitzwilliam looked over at the corner of his office.

"Even after dating Liz for a year, you can't hire Lauren," growled Bob.

"But she's the best I know of."

"Look. _Liz_ is the best. Think about that. You don't want her running off with some charming barista that she buys her coffee from every morning as she's going to work because she feels more comfortable with _him_ than with _you_. Stop and think about this one and just go through Mrs. P. and the usual channels. Don't think you need to cut corners to hire a new financial person. Don't be in a hurry. Jumping the gun and assuming you have to be the one and only one who knows what's best is probably one of your biggest faults." Bob waggled his finger at his cousin. "I'm sure Mrs. P. and the stockholders will have some idea of what's required to fill my shoes."

Fitzwilliam smiled sheepishly as he continued to look at the corner of his office. He took in a deep breath then looked back at Bob. "Okay. Point taken. I admit I often rush into things with my mind made up. I'll let HR advertise and see who we get."

The air between them was stilted as Fitz listened to Bob fiddle with his pen. Fitzwilliam nodded at the pen, "you done signing? Should we run off and see Claire for that last notarized set?"

"Almost," answered Bob who picked up the papers to leaf through them.

"Boston treating you good?" prompted Fitz. "Though you're not in downtown properly, you're out a ways, aren't you?"

"Yeah," said Bob without looking up. "I can take the T in to town to see Mary and Bridget or catch a game or go to bars. I can't believe how much I've taken to the city, the area." He put the papers down and looked at his cousin. "I have to say the women are completely different. East Coast girls like love, or Boston ones do. Silicon Valley girls only love money." It was his turn to look away, off towards nowhere but not at the other person in the room. "I once said I was looking for love, just in all the wrong places. Well, Silicon Valley was definitely the wrong place."

"You've met somebody?" stammered Fitz.

"No," answered Bob. "I just have the feeling that _I will."_

* * *

"When are you going to tell Mom?" asked Liz. She and Jane were decorating the lounge for her graduation party.

" _Never_ , I am never telling Mom," growled Jane. "It's bad enough that she grills me every time on the phone about marrying Charles." She got down from the step stool and moved it a few places before crawling back up it then to tape another flounce of crepe paper.

"She will probably camp out on your front lawn until you two marry," smiled Liz who was attaching crepe streamers along the edge of the bar.

"She's been on grandchild watch ever since she found out about Charles and me," sighed Jane. "Weren't _you_ supposed to have the kids?" There was a small laugh. "Why doesn't she bug you and Fitzwilliam?"

"I think she's scared of him," said Liz. "When I first told her I was moving in with him she was thrilled because I'd kept him a secret, but when she made dad drive her over to help me move so she could see his house and actually meet Fitz, it didn't go so well." Liz clipped off the end of her streamer and put the roll of crepe on top of the bar. "Mom couldn't think of anything to say beyond 'hello, your house is really nice.' I have finally found a way to make her shut up: show up with Fitz in tow and she clams up."

"She talks Charles' ears off," laughed Jane. "He goes so far as to poke me whenever she visits if she's there too long to hint that she's over-staying her welcome and he'd like his house back."

"Done with the step stool?" asked Liz as she watched Jane attach the last flounce and climb down. Red crepe streamers were definitely not the professional touch had some party planner been hired to plan her graduation party, but she and Jane were doing it Bennet-style. That meant the food would be great, some home-cooked dishes they could prepare ahead of time, but also some items brought in so Liz could talk to friends and family and not be cooking day of, hour of, the party. Aunt Alice even had coverage for the shop and was to come down.

"Yes," answered Jane who folded it up and brought it over. They proceeded to decorate another wall with red crepe paper (the Stanford mascot was the color Cardinal). When the crepe paper was up they sat down to rest on one of the many little two-seater lounge units which had a small table between two backless seats. Liz had fetched them chilled bottled water.

Jane blew out a breath. "Parties are always fun but planning and prep are hard work."

"You'll have your hands full in December."

"Perhaps I'm in denial. A baby wasn't part of The Plan, but neither was Charles. Life happens like that, doesn't it? I hadn't thought I would drop out of graduate school and be working, but here I am. Only a small part of me was disappointed Berkeley turned me down."

"I guess Aunt Alice was right, or is it that Mom is?" said Liz. "But we always land on our feet."

"Life gives you things you didn't know you needed." Jane took a sip of her water. "I was so focused on me and school and wasn't exactly happy with either. So then this opportunity at Pemberley came along and I met Charles as well.

"But I doubt any of my good fortune would have continued if not for Charles' insistence," continued Jane. "I realize you can't go through life as a one-woman show though he did convince Fitzwilliam to hire me permanently. I'm still not sure who thought about the patent for my design."

"I'm sure it was Bob. For all that he says he thinks about music; Mary says he still seems to breathe money. But I think you're right. You can't go through life being a one-woman show as much as I tried to do that for years," said Liz. She had thirstier than her sister and her bottle was almost empty. "I appreciated having you and Mary and Char even, but always kept my own counsel, didn't I?" Her eyes sought her older sister's.

Jane considered the question for many minutes. They were not uncomfortable minutes, but quiet and contemplative ones. "Yes you did, but I think you did in part as a response to me, knowing that I was most likely to come back with advice to you—probably unwanted advice—about how to act or behave. Even though you always tell me I'm sweet and perfect I also know I'm still a bossy older sister. I'm sorry Liz."

"You know, I wouldn't have you any other way Jane," said Liz. "I'm learning to let the past simply be and appreciate _here_ and _now_. To view the future with hope, but still, attempt to be in the moment." She took a sip from her water. "And being a one-woman show sucks!" She chugged her water and then screwed the cap back on before she put it down on the small table between them.

"I can't be an island, it's hard for people to just live like that, alone in a bubble," said Liz. She slumped down a little. "Even when I thought I was doing stuff on my own and trying really hard, I realized I was still trying to please like I was still trying to be that good little girl for Mom."

"Mom encourages that in us, didn't she?" said Jane.

"Very much so," said Liz. "But I hadn't realized how much it affected me; I realized that I didn't have a sense of self. You're supposed to find that as a teenager, aren't you? I watched you and Mary succeed in that—I mean Mary was always in your face about who she was—but I kind of felt a little lost."

"I'm sorry if you did," said Jane. "I suppose being sandwiched between us wasn't easy."

"No, yes…um…it was interesting," said Liz diplomatically. "But I've had Fitz to kind of help me along."

"I think you've talked my ear off about him now," said Jane. "At least since you've been back together. You only gave me tidbits before, but before you'd always been a little _shadowed_ , a little hesitant about him."

"Shadowed," said Liz who sat up again. "As an English major I have to appreciate that word use!" She grinned at her sister. "But I discovered that you can be with somebody without being one hundred percent sure that you _want_ to be with somebody. Like we're back to being little middle school girls who are learning all about sex and we're thinking about falling in love and we've these wild ideas that are black and white and very concrete about what it means. But the reality is very different. You can be _quite_ hesitant even though you're still involved with somebody. That's okay. It doesn't have to be this fairy-tale, wild romance. I think that in some ways with Fitz allowing me room to grow, the fact that I wasn't completely in love meant I had room to _grow_ in love with him. Far more deeply, as we have this past year."

"So you admit to being in love with him?"

"Yes," said Liz.

"Your new job will put a new test to that," said Jane as she took another sip of water and then burped and put a hand over her mouth. She looked at Liz. "I haven't had too many issues, but I sort of get an upset stomach sometimes. Do you have any crackers?"

"We probably have tons of food upstairs since I do the shopping now," said Liz. She stood and picked up her empty water bottle then waited for Jane to stand.

Liz squeezed the bottle a few times making a rather sharp crackling sound and Jane stopped in the act of standing. "So annoying, just stop."

"Sorry," said Liz. "Just going through my to-do list." Her eyes twinkled as she looked at her sister. "My college graduation party is on Saturday!"

"I know," smiled Jane in her knowing way.

They walked back upstairs to the kitchen without talking. Liz presented a number of options to her sister who opted for a piece of toast. It was still mid-morning and that seemed the most appealing thing.

"It's not that I didn't love Fitz before," explained Liz. "But there's been room to grow, which I think is good. If you're totally over-the-top crazy about someone at the beginning then the only thing that happens is that it fizzles out. There's nowhere to go, no up. It feeds on itself and burns up."

They had gone to sit in the living room in the front of the house. The light of the day made it a pretty little space. Like other parts of the house, Liz had added her own touches to it, messing with the interior designer's cold vision to put splashes of color. In this case, she had added some deep greens to enliven the grays of the furniture and added a number of potted plants.

Jane smiled over at her and raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying that Charles and I being crazy in love from the beginning is all wrong?"

Liz sputtered into her reheated coffee. "No!" She put the coffee cup down. "Not at all. I was just talking about me, you know I am, right?"

Jane's face indicated she was teasing. "I know. We all find love in different ways. Mary and Bridget were friends and sort of group-dated until that fateful Halloween party, so however you find love and make it work, well, at the end of the day, you've found love."

"I've said before how much I love you as a big sis, right?" said Liz.

"Maybe not often enough," said Jane who picked up a tea cup and blew on the contents.

"Graduation party on Saturday. Two weeks off to catch-up on stuff then a new job. Life does give you things you don't realize you need."

"Are you sure you can handle commuting to LA three days a week?" asked Jane.

"I know it sounds tough," said Liz. "But it's piggybacking on what I did for my first grant-writing position. But this one really is a microlender. I'm just happy that they'll let me work from home two days a week and I'm surprised that they allow such flexibility. I guess, once again, that San Francisco is getting to be an important place and maybe they're considering opening an office up here. Maybe I'll be the first employee if they do."

"It does help to have a rich boyfriend," smiled Jane.

"It does," agreed Liz. "I've argued until I was blue in the face about merely renting a room for the days I'm down there, but I suppose it doesn't hurt that he has property in Thousand Oaks. But I'll still have to commute when I'm down there."

"It sounds tough, to do all that traveling," said Jane.

"I'm young. What else am I supposed to do? Plus I've finally found my passion in life, my focus besides cranking through college. I won't always have to commute. I am sure in a year or two I will find something closer to home and settle down like you. But I love grant-writing."

"You've really changed a lot, yet you haven't. Maybe it's you come into your own," said Jane. "I'm happy to see you blossom."

"Thanks," replied Liz. The sounds of a cat hissing and growling interrupted their discussion. "That damned dog."

"Isn't that your cat?" asked Jane.

"Georgie's dog spends her days ferreting out wherever Morgan is hiding. I had these high hopes that the two of them were both so evil that they would naturally get along. _Fat chance_. They fight like a cat and a dog. But I blame Cherie since neither Fitzwilliam nor Georgie is here to defend her."

Liz walked off and found Cherie growling at a cornered Morgan Le Fey who was up on one of Fitzwilliam's shelves in the study. Both of them stopped their antics the instant she walked in even though she hadn't bothered to go fetch a water bottle to spray the pair of them. Cherie went trotting off, her toenails clicking on the hardwood floors. Morgan curled up to go back to sleep among the knickknacks on the shelf. Liz returned to Jane.

"Do you ever think about getting another dog?" asked Jane when Liz curled up with her lukewarm coffee.

"No. I think it will be many years before Fitzwilliam will ever consider getting a dog," answered Liz. She looked at the cup, sniffed and put it down on the coffee table.

"Liz," Jane said, mimicking her sister's action. "Charles and I were thinking of going to Vegas next week."

Liz' eyes snapped up to look at her sister. "Circumventing Mom?" Jane nodded.

Jane folded her arms across her chest then moved them down across her abdomen though she had no baby bump yet but her nervousness was evident to Liz.

"I…I've been hesitant to tell you. What with your graduation party and all. But also because I wasn't sure how you felt about Vegas. Last time you considered going to Vegas it was…ugly. But we would really like it if you and Fitzwilliam came with us and saw us through. I know Charles has been hesitant to tell Fitzwilliam because he didn't want to bring up past hurts and all. But will you come?"

"Oh yes, Jane, yes!" cried Liz. "I think we're ready to go to Vegas together." Liz looked at Jane. "But no trying to drag us to the altar as well. I think we're still not quite ready for that step."

"Pinkie swear," said Jane. "I just want you by my side."

"I'll be there," promised Liz.

* * *

A/N: I had a computer virus take my computer down for five days. I am just finally returning to some normalcy.


	39. Ending Notes

**Ending Notes**

Play List is at the end.

I wanted to begin by stating again by saying that it was a difficult decision to choose to have Fitz' father die by suicide. I had lost two friends in the past three years to suicide then was hit by the loss of another in the middle of posting this story. Suicide does not solve problems but creates huge ones, creates broken families, compounds issues, and shatters and shakes those left behind. It fractures lives in ways which can only be imperfectly mended.

If you feel you cannot go on, have lost hope, and believe suicide is an option, please don't go through with it, but please reach out to a friend, a loved one, a teacher, a clergyperson or contact one of the suicide prevention hotlines.

I just attended my friend's memorial; she was a teenager. She was bullied on social media. Can I also remind everyone why we love this story? Austen originally called it First Impressions, but we realize that maybe our first impressions are incorrect, so think twice, _please_ , before you speak or write or comment in what may be a harmful way. Go with kindness; try to wear another's shoes.

Thank you to everyone who stayed through Volume 2 (Entropy) and all the angst and misunderstandings, and could be patient enough for Volume 3 (Healing). I fear I lost a number of readers after Liz dumped Fitz due to her misunderstanding. Many reviewers heaped a lot of blame on Liz for not seeing that scene correctly, for being dumb and stupid, having emotional baggage, or being a selfish teen, and for not just sitting down at a computer and doing some good 21st century stalking once that letter arrived to look up who this guy was who had broken her heart.

I always work on a theme, or themes. This story was one which examined differing levels of interest from the two parties in a relationship (was not Austen's Darcy in love with Elizabeth, but Elizabeth thought of him with "profound dislike?"). And looking at when there is unequal interest, when does it become stalking?

I originally had titled this story: "She's Just Not that Interested in You," until my walking buddy **Guinness** passed away (he, like Jack, stopped walking in the middle of our route one morning to our horror). I then conceived of making Liz a dog-walker and this became "All Dogs Go to Heaven."

Did Fitz stalk Liz to begin with? Yes, he did when he set out to find her those first few days. Did C.W. stalk Liz? Yes, he did. Did Carmen and Lenore stalk Mason? Maybe, they were interested but he was interested back. Did Jane's TA stalk her? Yes. Did Bob stalk Mary? Yes. (But Bingley and Jane are both bam! interested.)

Where does "being interested" become "stalking?" When one party pursues the other and the other isn't, at first, interested? But it's okay once the other party is interested? How far do you go to persuade someone to date you? (That proverbial guy crazy for a girl theme in so many romances that he does over-the-top things to get her attention.) On the other side: is it okay to go out with someone even if you're feel a little uncertain about how you feel about him or her?

Do you have to be all-out crazy for someone to date, to **sleep** or to love them? Even from the beginning, a number of people felt Liz wasn't that 'into' Fitz or should just 'get over' her hang ups and go for it. But did you say the same thing when it was C.W. pursuing her? Did you ever feel she should 'get over' Fitz and date C.W.? He was quite interested in Liz; he asked her for a date every week after lunch.

Fitz said dating is a way to get to know someone even if you're a little unsure. So Liz went forward even if she wasn't sure. She was willing to try without being head-over-tails in love. You don't have to go into a relationship with your heart on a platter for the taking. Had not the misunderstanding happened they might have bounced along, but Fitz still had his anger and his daddy issues to work through. He wasn't ready. _That_ might have reared up and been an issue.

All of the relationships in this story were all of comparable time periods so everyone who dated anyone in the story had between two and four dates and they "saw" each other for about three weeks, but the various relationships presented all were very different. How you "date" or spend time with someone can lead to different results/feelings.

The other theme (besides how weird Silicon Valley can be) was their issues with their parents. We all have our relationships or non-relationships with our parents. Some of us are more comfortable and happy, some of us have issues. They both had issues to work through that impeded their ability to be together. Even with a parent long-gone, it can still affect the present and how we relate to others, hence Fitz needed to work through daddy issues just like Liz had to work through her own daddy issues.

I was surprised at a few commenters who felt he should still be angry once he'd come to realize how much his father's passing had affected him. Perhaps he still has vestiges of anger in him, but I've seen people, men, who carried long-held anger around but once it was worked through they seemed to be the gentlest people I've ever seen. The type who never yell, are never bothered by their kid's antics (no matter how trying)—the most emotion you see is getting excited about a sports game. I see Fitz like this, sparked by his interest in Liz; he was able to work through being angry and hurt about his dad leaving him and Georgia. Maybe he had to get really angry and make stupid mistakes in order to let it all burn out.

In some ways, I see them both as having been emotionally limited as far as relationships. You mature as you age, but you mature with dating and with even just hanging out with friends, but neither did that. Perhaps the difference in age wasn't such a factor because Fitz hadn't interacted, _interfaced_ , with people besides at work for seven years (which isn't quite the same as dating or going out with friends). In the most extreme cases you see this in men who've been incarcerated at 18 and spent 15 years in prison. When they come out their ability to have a relationship like other 33 year olds is minimal; emotionally they're 18. Fitz' seven years of hard work didn't leave him with much chance to practice being in relationships so he sort of had to speed date to figure a lot of stuff out. Liz, at least, had friendships to bring her along a bit.

Some people had questions as to why Liz did nothing more to pursue Darcy or look him up after her misunderstanding, some thought that it was out of character for canon Liz. But was not Austen's Liz opinionated in her own right? She took an instant dislike to Mr. Darcy because he insulted her, took Wickham's word as verity and never questioned herself, but carried on in her own world view? Wasn't she a bit opinionated, even bull-headed in Austen's world? 'I'm right and I don't need to do anything to correct my opinion' seemed entirely in character. So once convinced that Fitz was married she was sure she was correct and didn't need to do anything to confirm that opinion (or refute it).

People are not rational about feelings. Sometimes we just want to feel sorry for ourselves with our head in the sand and be assured that we were in the right and that everyone else is in the wrong. And we don't want to talk about it, because if we do, someone might point out _that we might possibly be wrong_ , or have done something wrong.

It is always nice to have that good friend who will take your side, no matter what and tell you you've messed up. But Liz didn't necessarily have that. That wasn't the relationship she had with her sisters, so she did not share as much as she might have with either Jane or Mary. To call either one and talk about Fitz did not necessarily mean they would pat her on the hand and say 'poor, poor thing,' _without maybe pointing out where something might have been her fault._ So she didn't really share much with Jane or Mary about the break-up with Fitz. Certainly her relationship with Charlotte was not like that. She was rather a one-woman show in terms of dealing with the breakup. So she, like Fitz, lost herself in being in the moment, in the present, and losing herself in schoolwork like he lost himself in work.

There seemed very few readers who found her a sympathetic character which I found interesting. I thought her a very _realistic_ character based on my own experiences and those of dozens of female friends on how they have coped with relationships. We do not have the strength of character, like Gryffindors, to be confrontational and demand to know why or demand our due. I think society has taught us women to put our tail between our legs, lick our wounds, and steal off into the night to recover whatever sense of dignity we can. I wish it was not, but in truth, most women I know walk quietly off into the night with whatever they can call dignity after a relationship. I even had a single friend post on Facebook recently about how after two dates (and neither of them calling the other for a few weeks), that when she saw the guy again on a street, she quietly crossed to the other side so they wouldn't be obliged to talk.

As an interesting aside I had pointed out that all of Liz' courses are ones offered by the Stanford English department, and one of them really was a seminar on sympathy, and in particular to relating to unlikeable characters. The syllabus discusses a point about getting beyond viewing a character with sympathy as an emotion, but as a way of thinking.

Alex was never the villain of the piece. Liz and Fitz were, in a way, their own worst enemies. And California employment laws are just really strict so it is tough to fire someone. Pemberley, like all Silicon Valley companies, is small, so say 30-34 employees, so there was not really another place to put her. I figured there were only 2 other admins there, and specialized ones to boot. Like one in sales and one in HR.

Bob was fun. He loved to talk and give advice. Sometimes he was really wrong about the advice he gave. Sometimes he was against Liz and sometimes for her, but he _always_ had something to say. I think the point of Bob in the story was to point out we can only ask for so much advice before WE decide what works for us.  
No, I do not live in Atherton (I work for my money; my money doesn't work for me). Neither do I walk through Atherton in the mornings. I do know how to cut through, despite the confusing arrangement of its streets. It is a great place to teach teens how to drive though.

But my last theme was just how weird life in Silicon Valley can be. Some of the little bits and pieces I included are from real-life working situations.

I've been in a couple houses in Atherton. Having money just makes people weird and unrealistic. There are people who can remember making money and the days before they had it and were "reasonable" people and those who have always had it and just don't know what to do next.

I had a kid have a playdate once in a house in Atherton and when driving home asked (like all moms ask) 'did you help pick up?' and they answered "no the maid did it."

I had a lady chew my ear off about how she was only using " _sustainably harvested marble_ " in her house. Think that phrase over very carefully. Sustainably-harvested marble. Like she's going to go plant marble trees somewhere to make up for all the million year-old marble she's using in her house!

A parent at school said he decided to cash in his stocks and retire so he could _jog more_. "It was only 30 million, but you know…" (I wish.)

I came to a stop sign and a car drove through the other way without stopping. My husband pointed out that the car was a McLaren which I'd never heard of. A high-end one too, he assured me. Turns out that it's a car with a base price of about $250,000. They go up from there. A house on wheels: I know some people who spend that amount of money on a house. My husband figured the McLaren we saw was probably closer to a half million.

There are people around here who regularly take home 10-20 million a year. 20 million a year in salary means $54K a day. Weird, right?

There were little details I wove in that people do to show off their wealth. Like C.W.: buying two houses next to each other, tearing them down and building a super big house. Or like one of Liz' dog families who had oodles of children. One of the signs of wealth is to now have big families as a sign that you can _afford_ them, afford to have a nanny and afford to send them to private schools and afford to fund their college savings accounts.

On the other hand, living in Silicon Valley means I've met people from probably one hundred countries. There are dozens of languages spoken all over the place and if you want to learn a new and exotic one you can easily find a tutor. At my usual Wednesday night Starbucks there's a lady who tutors in fifteen different languages.

And I could go on and on about the restaurant choices, but I won't.

Thanks for Reading.

SixThings

 **Play List**

1\. "My Monday Date" Louis Armstrong

2\. "Cry Me a River" Julie London

3\. "Greenbacks" Ray Charles

4\. "That Lucky Old Sun (Rolls Around Heaven All Day)" Louis Armstrong

5\. "Misty" Sarah Vaughan

6\. "Lover Man (Oh, where Can You Be?)" Billie Holiday

7\. "Feeling Good" Nina Simone

8\. "Them There Eyes" Billie Holiday

9\. "Fever" Peggy Lee

10\. "Tell The Truth" Ray Charles

11\. "La Vie en Rose" Billie Holiday

12\. "How High the Moon" Ella Fitzgerald

13\. "Trust in Me" Etta James

14\. "You Go To My Head" Louis Armstrong

15\. "Night Time is The Right Time" Ray Charles

16\. "My One and Only Love" Johnny Hartman and John Coltrane

17\. "Good Morning, Heartache" Billie Holiday

18\. "That Ole Devil Called Love" Billie Holiday

19\. "Mack the Knife" Ella Fitzgerald

20\. "Fine and Mellow" Billie Holiday

21\. "Stardust" Nat King Cole

22\. "Lonely Avenue" Ray Charles

23\. "Lush Life" Johnny Hartman

24\. "The Waters of March" Susannah McCorkle

25\. "Someday You'll Be Sorry" Louis Armstrong

26\. "It Should've Been Me" Ray Charles

27\. "One For My Baby (And One More for The Road)" Frank Sinatra

28\. "Some Other Spring" Billie Holiday

29\. "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered" Ella Fitzgerald

30\. "It's Alright" Ray Charles

31\. "Something Cool" June Christy

32\. "Somethin' Stupid" Frank Sinatra

33\. "They Can't Take That Away From Me" Ella Fitzgerald

34\. "Until the Real Thing Comes Along" Billie Holiday

35\. "Dream a Little Dream of Me" Louis Armstrong

36\. "Cheek to Cheek" Ella Fitzgerald

37\. "C'est si Bon" Louis Armstrong


End file.
